Venetian Glass
by Themis56
Summary: A story about Iris, going from her creation to the end of her life. COMPLETED! Weep in despair or joy.
1. Let There Be Life

__

INTRODUCTION

* Scene: an empty stage. Enter a lone Metool (or Met-Met-- those cute little guys who hide under the hard hats and shoot you from underneath; you know what I'm talking about.) 

The Metool clears its throat and begins to speak *

MET-MET: The author would have liked to do the introduction herself, but, due to the risk of violence against her person, she asked me to speak the piece instead. First of all, let me welcome you on the author's behalf to this fic-reading. If perchance you happen to enjoy this fic and have fun reading it, kudos to you!

Now, the author wants me to inform the reader that this is a fic about Iris, of all people...

* the Met-Met ducks under his hat as a barrage of spears thrown by angry MMX fans is chunked at him. When the assault stops, he speaks again *

Yes, I'm afraid it's true. And I'm afraid it's VERY biased and VERY pro-Iris...

* beer cans are chunked onto the stage; the Met's hat gets dented pretty bad, but is otherwise unharmed. *

Why did the author choose to write about...this particular person? Hell if _I_ know! Probably insanity, and maybe a perverse liking for the character, even if she IS a first-rate weenie. But WHY is she a weenie? How did she get to be that way? This is the author's...err.. explanation, if you can call it that. So, if you like Iris...

* A bomb is thrown up onto the stage *

KA-BOOM!!!

* _After the smoke clears, we see the little Met, smoking and charred but still alive, standing in the crater of what was the stage. He gives a little cough before going on *_

But if you happen to be an Iris-HATER, then, for the love of Christmas, DON'T READ THIS FIC!! Oh, and one more thing: there'll be some action scenes in this, but they'll be few and far in between. Besides, the author sucks at writing exciting stuff. This would be a GREAT anesthetic for surgery patients.

Thank you.

* The poor little Met waddles off stage, being pelted by chairs and cigarette lighters and all sorts of things while doing so. Before he gets all the way off, he waddles back and speaks rapidly *

AndbythewayIris,Zero,ColonelandallrelatedcharactersarepropertyofCapcomand theauthordoesNOTownthemthoughshewishesshedidandlightenuppeopleit'sjustaFIC! 

* Waddles off stage again, and this time he goes off for GOOD *

Venetian Glass

by Themis56

Themis56@aol.com

CHAPTER 1: LET THERE BE LIFE

Two men, garbed in standard-issue white laboratory coats, lounged at a small card table in the break room, assorted food wrappers, plates, and half-drunk bottles scattered pell-mell on top of hundreds of diagrams, stat sheets, and horribly complex equations.

"So," one of the scientists grunted, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied belch, "what more have we got to do today? Damn, I swear, I'm going to get carpal-tunnel syndrome one of these days."

"Yeah. Pushing all those buttons is terribly strenuous work, and my admiration for your stoicism knows no bounds. Actually _building_ the stupid things is nothing in comparison to the strain you go through!" the other snorted as he held up a hand swathed in bandages.

"Oh, shut up. You should've looked at that broken arm-joint a tad more carefully before running your damn hand up and down the edge. Now that was _smart," _the first scientist, a technician, groaned as he got up to his feet and untightened the belt around his portly belly a notch. "What else have we got to do today?"

"Just one more, I think," came the response from the thinner, taller scientist, this one a mechanical engineer.

"Standard assembly-line? I hate those stupid Hunters, always bitching for more battle-reploids--"

"It's not for the Hunters, Gary. It's a Repliforce request. From Dr. Thorne himself. And it's not exactly an assembly-line model." 

"Aw, no!! That's even worse. Special reploids take _forever_ to build. What does Thorne want, anyhow? Another Repliforce officer?" Gary frowned, straightening out his coat.

"Not exactly. It's...it's..." the engineer chuckled slightly, shaking his head.

"What is it, then? Dave? What's so funny?"

"You remember that officer reploid we helped Dr. Thorne make a few months ago? Colonel?" Dave managed to speak past his sniggers.

"Yeah--"

"Well, get this: Thorne wants to give Colonel a _sister!_ Can you believe it?" 

Gary gaped at his partner, his jaw slack and twitching upwards at the corners, and flatly stated: "You're kidding."

"Nope."

"But _why?_" Gary demanded, his expression not altering.

Dave shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Hell if I know. I guess that both Dr. Thorne and Colonel want a girl in the family. Guess they thought it'd be a nice change."

"He's gone nuts, that's what I think. Ah, well. Guess it really doesn't matter. We get paid well enough by him, anyway. When's he coming, Dave?" Gary swept all of the food off the table and into a nearby trash can while his companion gathered up the grimy papers.

"In about an hour. He's bringing Colonel with him, too. I'd like to see him again, actually. He was one of our best productions."

"Yeah," Gary sighed, walking towards the door, brushing the food crumbs off his shirt front, "our best... A _sister_? Thorne's off his rocker for sure."

*************

Specialty reploids, of course, were not constructed in the main assembly room of the labs; there was a small series of highly classified rooms for the individual Reploids. And in one of these rooms the two scientists labored to ascertain that all the equipment was in order and ready to be used at a moment's notice. When Dr. André Thorne arrived to work on a project, he wanted to work on it _immediately._

"I think that's everything. God Almighty, that doc has such high standards," Gary muttered, putting the final polish on the table where the reploid was actually going to be built. "You can't even have a single little scuff on the damn place without him having a conniption."

"Tell me about it. Remember the time you accidentally dropped that half-eaten ham sandwich on the floor and forgot to pick it up?" the other remarked from his bench as he idly assorted his tools.

"Yeah--the thing we built for 'im stepped on it, did a backflip, and broke into a thousand bits! I thought he was gonna have a heart attack..."

"Hush! He's coming!" Dave hissed, straightening up at the sound of footsteps just outside the door; Gary scrambled to put away the rag and polish.

The door slid open with a barely audible hiss. Standing on the threshold was an aging man, about sixty years or so, with an ample head of dull gray hair and small, wire-rimmed spectacles. His hazel eyes were kind enough, but his mouth was pulled into a hatchet-thin line, a very common expression with him.

Behind the doctor was a towering Reploid of over seven feet. He was attired in the crisp white-and-black uniform of a high officer in the Repliforce, and a sharp military hat rested on his head; his face and eyes were sharp and stern.

"Dr. Thorne, Sir! And Colonel! It's a pleasure to see you again," Dave greeted, walking forward and shaking their hands; Gary nodded at them and began wheezing his way up some steps to the control-post; the consoles used in the making of Reploids took too much space to be set up on the ground-level, and besides, it gave the technician a more complete view of what was going on below.

Colonel promptly retreated to the side of the room, standing straight at attention; Thorne produced a small disk from his coat pocket and inserted it into one of the millions of hard drives that dotted the place; a computer screen nearby flickered up the stats and building plans for the Reploid.

"As you can see, I have a very specific plan for her in mind--I want a variable CPU, not a pre-programmed one," the doctor pointed out, tapping the monitor.

"What?! With all due respect, Sir, but have you gone _bonkers?_ Whatever for? These plans are so simple, except for that darn CPU--I bet she could be an assembly-line if you would just let her have a regular one," Dave protested, frowning slightly; he and Gary shared a confused glance.

"I don't _want_ an assembly-line reploid, David," came the response, "If I did, I wouldn't have gone through so much trouble."

Now, concerning the practice of programmed and variable CPUs: Programmed CPUs were chips that had emotions and ideas, quite literally _programmed_ onto it. A reploid with such a chip was then automatically given a set personality; the reploid also knew what to _do_ with its emotions--it automatically knew that it was supposed to laugh when seeing a sitcom on a television, that it was supposed to get angry when it got slugged by another Reploid.

But reploids that were given variable CPUs--and there were very few of those--had more of a choice. They were not given a set personality; what they would be like was just as dependent on probability as any human. And although they had vast intelligence and knowledge and emotions programmed into them, the variable CPU did not tell the reploid what emotions were needed for every situation. The reploid had to _learn_ what emotions would be appropriate for occasions, either by tutelage or trial and error. Of course, there was a great danger involved in programming a reploid with a variable CPU, as the reploid could choose the wrong emotion for a scenario and cause great damage. The once-great Hunter Sigma had been given a variable CPU, and look how _he_ had ended up. Thus, many humans were loathe to have such chips implanted in reploids; there was even talk of it being banned by the government.

"Okay, Sir, if that's what you want," Dave conceded in a reluctant voice, "but it's a dangerous thing, you know."

"I have that all planned out," Thorne assured his underling. "This is no war-reploid, David. Do you see any special battle-techniques programmed into the CPU or any arm-cannons on her?"

"Well, then, what do you want her for?" Gary asked; he was a bit put out that he was going to be wasting his time building a reploid that didn't seem to be of any practical use.

"Oh, she'll help the Repliforce, of course!" Thorne answered with a rare chuckle. "Just not in combat. Repliforce needs other members besides the ones that do the shooting. Colonel will help her fit in just fine. Speaking of which, I want her to be a companion for Colonel. I don't want him to be alone when I'm gone. And having a daughter of sorts would be a novelty for me, I think. And I want to spite the government a little by making a reploid with a variable CPU. And--oh, for Heaven's sake. I have many reasons."

Dave sighed and removed his coat, rolling up his sleeves and reaching for a large crate that Colonel was standing next to. The crate was labeled FRAGILE, and inside were a panoply of wires, various metals, molds, and discarded parts. 

"I guess there's no reason to keep on yapping. Gary, let's get this baby started!"

*************

"Well!" Dave puffed out his breath, wiping the sweat, silver residue, and God knew what else from his tools and off his hands with a rag, "We've done it."

Lying supine on the work table and attached to countless wires was the finished product: a female reploid, about five foot six in height, with a petite, rounded face and a ponderous mass of dark brown air spilling out from underneath a red beret. She wore the standard female Repliforce uniform: blue blouse with red and gold trim, and a wide, rather unflattering skirt that flared out. The rationale behind this was that the male Repliforce members needed to be concentrating on their jobs, not on the legs of someone of the opposite sex.

"Heh..." Gary grinned down at the reploid from his control post, "just look at that outfit. All colors of the rainbow in that thing, I'll bet."

"Certainly is a sight." Dave concurred, snickering also, and turning to Dr. Thorne and Colonel, "Couldn't you guys have made the uniforms for your female members a little more...fashionable? Do you hate women or something?"

Neither of the two looked like he found the comment humorous.

"Eh, sorry about that," Dave muttered, suddenly finding something very intriguing about his feet. "What's her name gonna be?"

"Well, I had something else in mind, but now...Dr. Falwell's little remark has made me think otherwise..." Thorne's eyes closed in contemplation; he opened them a few seconds later and let them sparkle as he continued. 

"Iris. Her name will be Iris."

*************

"If you will excuse me, gentlemen," the doctor nodded, suddenly curt, in his assistants' direction; they took the hint and quietly shuffled out the door, rolling their eyes as they did so.

Dr. Thorne walked over to the main console and typed in a final command; the wires extending from various power sources into Iris's body jerked alive, humming and glowing softly.

The doctor beckoned to Colonel, and the two positioned themselves around the table; Colonel's formerly steel-hard eyes were clear and looked nervous, almost lost, in their bewilderment.

"What's wrong, my boy? You look a bit shaken," Thorne spoke up over the humming sound.

"My apologies, Sir. It is just that...that..." 

Colonel licked his lips, narrowing his eyes in thought; he tried to speak further, but couldn't. He had known that he would be getting a sister for quite some time now, but now that the abstract had become reality, he was paralyzed by a swarm of emotions: sometimes he was elated for the new member of the 'family,' at others he felt reluctant in accepting her existence. He welcomed the new responsibilities that a new sibling brought, but also felt an almost petulant notion that he had enough responsibilities as it was, and did not need any more. 

"Don't apologize," Thorne dismissed with an infrequent smile. "It's a new experience for you, I know. But know this: she will be a part of our family, now. And, if nothing else, you will honor and _respect_ her as you do me. _Respect._ Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Colonel shifted his gaze back down to his new sister. Her body had shifted slightly as the wires fed power into her CPU, the life-force slowly but surely diffusing through her; he reached out and carefully rearranged her red beret.

Eventually, the wires ceased their humming and glowing as the required energy to start the CPU was acquired. Dr. Thorne quickly started to disengage the wires from her person with his deft old hands.

Iris made no move for several minutes, minutes which to Colonel and Dr. Thorne seemed like an eternity. Here it was, the very moment of truth: what sort of personality would she be given? Would she function properly? Would she even function at all? 

A barely perceptible shudder coursed through her body, and then her chest rose and fell softly as her artificial respiratory system kicked in. Her hands and legs twitched. Finally, her eyes, bright blue and large, snapped open.

*************

Iris raised her head and looked at Colonel, and then her creator, and back to her brother again. She smiled a small, secretive little smile at him; Colonel's own stern face broke into a wide, beaming grin, and for some reason or another, he swept off his cap to her with one hand as he extended the other and helped her off the table.

Her first steps were precarious and ungainly; she needed to lean against her brother for support a few seconds before finding her balance.

Once he was sure that Iris wouldn't topple head over heels just be standing, Dr. Thorne addressed his newest creation.

"Iris, I am Dr. André Thorne. Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, sir. You're my creator." She spoke up for the first time; her voice was low and quiet, almost a whisper, with just the slightest tinge of a British accent, unlike her brother, whose accent was extremely pronounced. She inclined her head deeply.

"And this," the doctor continued, no small hint of satisfaction in his voice, "is your brother, Colonel." Iris smiled again at her sibling and let him enfold one of her hands in his.

Thorne then proceeded to fire a barrage of questions at her, all just to test whether her logic and memory circuits were functioning properly; she answered them all promptly and calmly.

"Well, then," her creator concluded the interrogation with a satisfied nod. "Come along, Iris. Let's go home."

Happy, enthralled by everything she saw, and perfectly and blissfully oblivious as to what was outside the barred doors of the laboratory, Iris linked an arm through one of Colonel's, and let herself be led away towards home. Wherever that was.


	2. The Wide, Wide World

CHAPTER 2: THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD

Although walking was still a mite precarious for Iris, she managed to go all the way to the main exit of the lab with only a little help from Colonel. Her reflexes were rapidly attuning themselves to movement; in about a day her motor skills would be fully activated, and then she could move around with no problems at all, no-one the wiser that she had only been just created.

The sky was overcast that day, so when Dr. Thorne opened up the glass-paned double doors, Iris's optical nerves adjusted to the extra light without any problems; the lack of sun glare allowed her a full view of the city: Neo Tokyo, the largest metropolis in Japan, and the third largest in the world.

Every building was made almost entirely out of metal, every rivet and sheet polished to mirror sheen; the reflections of the sky cast everything under a smoky pallor: gray buildings, gray sidewalks--even the leaves on trees and people's faces were tinged with gray. Neon signs and billboards screamed out messages in several languages--English or Russian tourists almost felt at home--and electricity-powered cars filled the streets in tightly knotted lines.

And the people! Iris could hardly believe what she was seeing: thousands upon thousands of people in this small section of the metro alone, speed walking along in huge masses. Black, white, Asian, Hispanic, and everything in between mingled together, hair almost any color you could think of, with clothes ranging from conservative business attire to downright indecent.

They swept briskly by, never giving her, nor Colonel, nor Dr. Thorne a glance; their hushed mumblings almost drowned out the sounds of other traffic. Some were talking on tiny cell phones; others had their noses buried in some kind of reading material or another, somehow keeping pace with the rest; others chatted in small groups. 

And leaning against the buildings were ragged, grim-faced people holding cups or other makeshift containers out to the passers-by. Every five seconds or so, a paper bag or a wrapper or an empty box would be tossed out; if the cars did crunch down on the trash, then the wind would pick it up and blow it down the street until it vanished.

All the sights, sounds, smells, and sensations around her was simply too much for Iris. She put her hands up to her ears and stared down at her feet, rocking back and forth, working her jaw and humming to drown out all the sounds ringing in her ears.

She felt a heavy weight on her shoulder: a large hand gently cupped itself around her, and Colonel drew her close to him. Iris buried her head into his chest and clung to him as if there were no tomorrow.

"Don't be scared," he said to her. "It's just a case of sensory overload. I had it when I was first created. You'll get used to everything. We are going home right now--it's all right."

Iris slowly disengaged her death-grip and nodded dumbly, shaking slightly, but showed no fear otherwise.

"Are you all right?" Dr. Thorne stepped up quickly and peered anxiously over his newest creation. "Is it sensory overload?"

"Yes, Sir. Remember the time when _I_ had it?" Colonel assured his creator, giving Iris a small push on the back to get her moving.

"Ah!" Thorne chuckled softly, falling in beside his two reploids. "Now, that was an unpleasant experience for all concerned. It wasn't funny at the _time_, but now that I think about it..."

As her brother and creator became engrossed in their conversation, a conversation full of foreign dates and people that were only words to her, Iris became rather bored. She obviously couldn't partake in the talk, and just looking down at the ground didn't afford the prettiest of views. Her eyes scanned languidly over the sidewalk several times, seeing people's shoes and not much else, but she dared not look up again.

A bright flash of color underneath her feet made her stop; she bent down and saw it was a large advertisement that had fallen out of a newspaper, or something like that. She knew what an ad _was_, of course--she had dictionaries of information stored in her brain--but, except for the loud billboards, and she had been so confused that she had briefly forgotten what they were, she had never _seen_ one before. 

Her eyes scanned over the print, quickly digesting what it had to say, but before she finished reading the ground suddenly rushed up to meet her as she felt a heavy blow from behind. 

She cracked her forehead against the pavement as she tumbled head over heels; something smashed into her, tangling up her flailing limbs. A loud, angry voice sounded near her ear.

"Heeey! Watch it, ya dumb 'roid!"

Iris struggled to get up onto her knees, and when she finally did she looked up into the face of a middle-aged man dressed in a sharp business suit, his gray-streaked hair forming a neat ring around a glaring bald spot. He was frowning and had his arms crossed impatiently.

"Well?"

Iris opened her mouth to speak and ask what he wanted, but it was then she found out something about herself: whenever she was embarrassed or feeling very shy, as she was now, she couldn't utter a word. Her vocal circuits simply froze up. Her mouth opened and clamped shut like a fish's, making no sound--to be frank, she looked quite stupid. A hot sensation flashed through her chest, and she felt infinitely sorry that she had tripped the man and caused him so much trouble.

"God! Are you stupid or something? You're on my hat, 'roid!"

Iris didn't know what that term he kept on calling her meant--the word had not been programmed into her extensive vocabulary--but her brother certainly did. Colonel and the good doctor finally noticed that the newest addition to the family was missing, and so they doubled back to find her. They had just reached her when the businessman had yelled at her about his hat.

"Sir!" Colonel spoke up harshly, helping Iris up to her feet and grabbing at the hat. "I suggest that you not speak of my sister in such a despicable manner!! She has just been created and is still very disoriented. You needn't make such a boor of yourself over a hat." He thrust the crumpled headpiece at the human, who snatched it away and put it back on with a defiant expression on his face, but walked away without a word.

"Colonel, my boy," Dr. Thorne blew out a ragged breath, "you came close to crossing the line there. Talking back in such a manner..."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I have no regrets. Talking to a scared and confused girl like that is inexcusable! And all because of a simple accident! I certainly meant no harm, though, and perhaps I should have not used such a tone of voice," Colonel responded, pulling his sister close to him; Iris resumed her death-grip on him, her face drawn and scared with a small patch of white where her skin had been scraped from the fall.

"Iris. You could have at least apologized to the man," Dr. Thorne said, casting her a grave look.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I tried to speak, I really did. I just...I just couldn't..." Iris began, but all her tangled emotions and her hurt made her feel sick and dizzy, and she couldn't continue.

Dr. Thorne looked at her askance, but his face softened and he reached over and straightened her crumpled beret.

"It's all right. You must be really taking all these sights and sounds and changes very hard. Come, we'll get a cab and ride the rest of the way back home."

Dr. Thorne did as promised and quickly hailed a cab; the three piled in, Colonel having to stoop nearly halfway to fit.

"Brother, what does the word ''roid' mean?" Iris asked, looking up into his face, which darkened.

"It is a derogatory term," he said after a long pause, "for reploids. He shouldn't have used it. No human should use it. It's like if you called a human a 'fleshy'. Of course, you wouldn't have gotten away with it like that human did."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't worry about it," Colonel amended hastily. "I was just talking to myself. Forget it."

Iris let the conversation drop there--although she may not have had the sense not to block pedestrian traffic in the middle of a busy street, she at least knew when to keep her mouth shut.

*************

Presently, the cab pulled up and stopped; Colonel and Iris got out as Dr. Thorne paid the fare. Iris looked around at her new environment.

They had left the business district of Neo Tokyo and now were in the residential suburbs.

The place was very pleasant; green trees were planted in well-kept lawns; the streets were virtually free of clutter and litter; the houses were beautiful, and, from the looks of it, very expensive. They were obviously in the upper-crust section.

Iris turned and looked at the house the cab had parked in front of: it was a very pretty thing as well, a good-sized Victorian with two stories and neat green trim on perfect white. It had a large porch with a big swing; the lawn was spacious and shaded by maple trees imported from America. Brick walls surrounded the place, marking its boundaries, and a large pair of iron gates loomed in front of her.

After getting her fill of the scene, Iris absently looked up at the sky, and then got quite a shock: soaring around up there, performing the neatest barrel-rolls, loop-the-loops, and other such aerial acrobatics as gracefully as you please, was a white figure that definitely was _not_ a bird. She couldn't tell exactly what it was, though--the creature was too high up for her to get a good look at it.

She didn't have much time to speculate, either; the white shape suddenly halted in flight and then silently started heading in her direction at a fantastic speed. Iris gave out a little cry and scurried back, but Colonel intercepted her and squeezed her shoulders.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "It's only one of the Repliforce's men. I know him. He's probably just coming down for a talk."

As the shape came closer and closer, Iris saw that, although it was humanoid, the creature had the head of a stallion and a glorious pair of spreading wings. It wore the livery of the Repliforce: neat black pants, crisp white shirt with gold buttons, and two golden shoulder decorations with fringe. It was a reploid pegasus.

"Good day, Sir!" the reploid pegasus half-spoke, half-whinnied his greeting as he made a perfect landing, saluting smartly.

"Good day, Spiral," Colonel reciprocated the salute, his face calm but his eyes and mouth stern. "I hope that you weren't performing such antics on your patrol duty."

"Aw, Colonel, Sir, patrolling the city is _boring!"_ Spiral shook his head from side to side in exasperation, but he at least had the good sense not to snort. "There hasn't been a trace of Mavericks ever since the Repliforce was _created."_

"Spiral! _At attention, soldier."_ Colonel snapped, making both Iris and Spiral Pegasus cringe; although he never raised his voice a decibel, he had a way of speaking that gave the impression that he was shouting. It was quite unnerving, and was even worse than yelling.

"My apologies, Sir. I meant no disrespect," Spiral said very softly, inclining his graceful head.

"This flippancy of yours is going to get you into trouble someday, Spiral," Colonel admonished in a lighter tone. "A cocky fighter is no good in battle."

"Oh, _please,_ Sir," Spiral squawked, shaking his wings impatiently. "It was just a little fun. I wasn't hurting anything."

"Come on, my boy," Thorne interrupted, placing a hand on Colonel's shoulder, "It's nothing. Let it drop. But don't you let me or Colonel catch you doing that again, Spiral. My workers spent too much time on you to let you crash in the middle of the street."

"Oh, Dr. Thorne! How do you do, Sir? I didn't notice you," Spiral snapped to attention again, saluting; after the two had exchanged formalities, the pegasus finally saw Iris behind her brother's massive body.

"And who's this?" he wickered curiously, sniffing in her direction; his mannerisms were so comical to Iris that her paralyzing shyness was forgotten.

"I'm Iris," she responded instantly, smiling.

"She's my sister. She was just created today," Colonel added, jostling her shoulders lightly.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am," Spiral chirruped; he came forth and knelt down on one knee, taking one of her hands and touching his muzzle to it. Iris giggled rather stupidly, but she couldn't help it--his breath tickled her palm.

"What do you do in the Repliforce? Are you under my brother's command?" she asked when he had gotten to his feet.

"Technically, yeah...in the broad scheme of things, Colonel's my commander, second only to the General. But I actually work for the Repliforce Air Brigade--Storm Owl's unit. I'm the scout and patrolman," Spiral elucidated. He suddenly turned around so that she could get a good look at his metallic wings. They were made of almost paper-thin yet very durable sheets of metal hammered into the shapes of all types of wing feathers. The tips trembled slightly with a soft rattle in the breeze. Near where the wings were attached to his back were long, thin apparatuses very much like the wing-engines of a jet; it was truly an impressive sight, and Iris couldn't help but let out a sigh of admiration. 

"These babies are the latest in design; I can go from zero to two hundred in thirty seconds flat and I can adjust them internally so I can change altitude or decelerate my speed when I need to. My wings are mainly for steering and gliding--ain't they grand?" He turned his graceful neck over his shoulder and gave her a knowing wink, which somehow made her blush.

"Spiral, don't start with that again. For one, I would be eternally joyful if you could just fly in a straight course for more than thirty seconds," Colonel said dryly, but the only response he received was another high-pitched whinny of laughter from his unabashed underling.

"Aw, come on, Sir! What's the point of flying if you can't _enjoy_ it?" On the word 'enjoy' the reploid pegasus had ignited his little jet-engines and shot a few feet over Colonel's head, prancing around with abandon.

"Say, I hear that you and Zero are gonna duke it out this weekend, Sir," Spiral continued, cocking his head down at his superior. "And I say that kicks all else. That cherry-red hippie doesn't have a _prayer._ No Hunter can compare with you." The pegasus then turned his gaze to Iris. "I bet you didn't know that your brother is the best saber duelist in all of Neo Tokyo--and the world, for that matter. It's true! Your brother is a bona fide bad-a..er, boy."

For a few seconds, Iris didn't respond; what did one say to that? Once again, she felt confused and disoriented. Was being skillful at handling a saber supposed to be something to be _proud_ of? Well, Spiral's tone certainly supported that opinion. So, after a few seconds of trying to regain her emotional bearings, the petite reploid felt a glowing sense of pride well up within her; she took one of Colonel's arms in hers and gave it a proud squeeze, beaming up at him.

"Spiral," Colonel admonished in a tone that was not overly stern; he seemed slightly embarrassed--for although he was not humble, he was no braggart either. "Please, stop while there's still a modicum of civility in this conversation. I _am _dueling with Zero, but only for practice...we both wanted it. He's a fine warrior and a worthy opponent..."

"He's an arrogant snot," Spiral snorted, not even realizing in his indignation that he had interrupted his own superior, "and frankly, Sir, that's _really_ cleaning it up because there's a lady present. I, for one, wouldn't mind seeing you trashing his sorry butt. The guy needs to be taken down several hundred notches."

"Spiral," Dr. Thorne spoke up before the ruffled pegasus could _really_ get heated up, "how many times do I have to remind you that the Repliforce and the Hunters aren't enemies? You two are supposed to _help_ each other, not throw insults..."

"Please! Stop! Desist! You don't know _how _many times I've heard this speech before. 'The Repliforce and Hunters are FRIENDS, Spiral! Why don't you forget the fact that they're all a bunch of haughty morons led by a senile old sot and kiss their asses right now?'" Spiral thrust out one hand and clapped the other one over his ears.

"Spiral!!" Thorne snapped, his old eyes growing irritated. "Dr. Cain just happens to be a friend of mine. He may have his faults, but he's a decent man. Please don't insult someone you don't know."

"Sorry, Sir. I didn't mean it, really," Spiral bowed his head meekly but Iris thought she could see the hint of a smirk on his muzzle. "Dr. Cain's all right, I suppose. I don't have any quarrel with him. And I guess the other Hunters are okay as well...it's ZERO I can't stand. I never liked him, never will."

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand," Iris spoke up softly, giving the other three something of a start. "Don't the Hunters and Repliforce get along?" Try and scan her data banks as she might, she couldn't find any information of a feud between the two factions, and Spiral's attitude puzzled her.

"Oh, right...you were just created! Sorry to confuse you. Now, try as these two might," Spiral waved a hand at Colonel and Dr. Thorne, who scowled deeply, "there's...er...how to put this nicely...um...some...friction between Repliforce and the Maverick Hunters. It's not an all-out feud _per_ _se_ because no-one's been killed or anything, but it's coming darn close. We insult and play pranks on each other all the time, and maybe bash a few noses and break some arms occasionally--or at least the common soldiers do. The officers wouldn't get away with it. But it's a whole lot of fun. Too bad you can't join in, being the sister of the second-in-command."

"Well, what started the...um, friction in the first place?" Iris pressed. Spiral cocked his ears at a strange angle and gave her a somewhat nonplused look.

"Darned if I can remember," he admitted. "It's just the way it's been. I guess that a person from Repliforce and one from the Hunters got into an argument or something, they got into a fight, their friends joined in, and it's been bad blood between us ever since. Or maybe it's because the Hunters are a bunch of arrogant, crude idiots. They never liked the fact that we were created to support them in battle--they were _too gooood _for us. God forbid that they get _help._" His nostrils were flaring and distended now, and he gave the loudest snort Iris had ever heard--which may not have been saying much, but it really _was_ loud. "Man, I can't even _think_ about it without wanting to kill something. I better go fly...it'll keep me from going ballistic."

"Please do," Colonel snapped, looking rather disgruntled. "Spiral, you're a good man, but sometimes you push me so far! You need discipline outside the Repliforce barracks and in battle as well. You'll never make a good Repliforce representative."

"Fine with me!" Spiral shook his head from side to side, "I'll be damned if I ever become a diplomat--too boring."

Colonel's face went bright red, but he managed to keep his voice in check. "Spiral, please go..._now! _And next time, watch your language in front of the lady!"

"Beg your pardon, ma'am," Spiral bowed his head to the gaping Iris, and he did look rather abashed.

Although she _had_ been quite shocked to hear a Repliforce soldier curse, Iris couldn't help but forgive the spunky pegasus. "Oh, it's all right, it's all right," she mumbled, flushing--she felt bad to be the cause of such trouble for him.

"Well, good-bye Dr. Thorne, Colonel, Iris...I'm off! Take care!" Spiral chirruped and then put his engines at full thrust.

As the trio watched the retreating white blur, Iris gave out a small little laugh.

"I like him. He's nice," she commented idly.

"Oh, don't be taking _his_ side," her brother sighed, putting an arm around her shoulders and leading her up to the gates of the Thorne abode.

"Now, you two, don't start. We've had enough quarrels today as it is. How are you feeling, Iris? It's been an exciting day for you," Dr. Thorne said, casting a glance at his newest creation.

"I'm a bit tired," Iris said, not actually realizing how she was feeling until that moment.

"Well, I've got your room prepared, and a nice bed for you. Come along. Your brother and I are going to have some supper, but new reploids shouldn't eat much until their systems have been totally adjusted."

Dr. Thorne opened up the gates by pushing a combination on a small keypad located near the lock, and the little family walked up the cobblestone pathway and into the house, closing the door firmly behind them.

Iris was home.

*************

For about two weeks, Iris did not venture out the front gates of the Thorne residence--she had to get used to the world around her first, and needed to learn some social skills.

Her main teacher in those first confusing, difficult weeks was her brother. He had applied to the Repliforce bureaucracy for three weeks of leave to take care of his new sister, and it had been granted, mostly because the administrators knew Colonel was not one to take leave without good reasons, and the fact that his creator was one of the human leaders of the faction. So, the sight of Colonel and Iris sitting on the big porch swing, simply talking, talking, talking, was not an uncommon one.

He taught her many things: how she was supposed to react to certain situations, how to behave in public, and what she had been designed for. He gave her books to read; he brought her out into the front yard and helped her identify various plants and animals; in short, he _showed _her how to perform skills already programmed within her. Once someone had drawn the skill out of her, then Iris never forgot it. She could clean, cook, work a computer like nothing else, she could fix just about anything around the house--all because her brother had showed her first.

As for her creator, that was a bit different. Dr. Thorne always treated Iris very kindly, to be sure, and sometimes he would help Colonel in getting Iris to reach her full potential, but there was simply something lacking. He didn't have the enthusiasm, the desire, the warmth that Colonel had. 

It wasn't that Dr. Thorne didn't want to help his creation; he truly wanted her to live a full, satisfied life, as it was his duty as her creator. You just did not create something and then throw it out to fend for itself--she and her brother were the closest to family he had. But there were a few hitches that limited his involvement in Iris's development.

First, Dr. Thorne did not have the liberty to take off time as Colonel had; the aging man was a very vital part of the Repliforce bureaucracy, and many decisions were placed on his thin shoulders. Furthermore, all this responsibility did tax the doctor a good deal; when he returned home after a long day's work, he did not have much energy to spend on Iris.

But, also, there was something in Thorne's attitude that made him unthinkingly hold back his support and wisdom: secretly, down in the very core of his heart, he was a bit disappointed in how Iris had turned out.

It wasn't _horrible_ disappointment--the good doctor wasn't crushed or made bitter by it. Rather, it made him somewhat sad. For, despite Colonel's support and teaching, Iris's social skills weren't coming along very well. She was just too shy, too reserved. And furthermore, she seemed to hold no interest in serving the Repliforce. She lacked the devotion her brother held, and this fact made Thorne depressed and wonder if he should have put in the variable CPU at all--he had never expected that it would give her such a painfully shy personality.

After the two weeks were over, though, Dr. Thorne's hopes were raised a little: Iris was as ready as she ever would be to go out into the working world now, and Colonel was going to take her out to Repliforce H.Q. to sign up for a post. She would be filling her place at last.


	3. One Person's Shame is Another's Entertai...

CHAPTER THREE: ONE PERSON'S SHAME IS ANOTHER'S ENTERTAINMENT

"Iris."

The word seeped down and infiltrated Iris's deep slumber, partially drawing her out from a dream; she gave out a small, irritated moan and prepared to submerge once again into her subconscious, turning over on her side as she did so.

"Iris!!"

Something grabbed ahold of her shoulder and shook her--and none too gently, either. She opened up her sleep-bleared eyes and saw her brother standing over her, his hand still in its death-grip.

"What? What?" she mumbled, the initial shock quickly subsiding. "I _really_ wish you wouldn't _do_ that, brother! What I wouldn't give for a nice, enclosed stasis pod sometimes!"

"Iris, look at the clock," Colonel spoke, crossing his arms and giving her a reproachful glance; she did as bidden, shifting her gaze over to the timepiece on her nightstand: eight o' clock in the morning.

"I have to report to the Headquarters at _precisely_ nine," Colonel continued, "and if you aren't ready when I am, then it's too tough for you. I won't have you late for registration." A small smile tinged his lips, but Iris knew he meant every word he said.

"Oh, great great great," Iris muttered, disconnecting a cord from a port located near her wrist; this cord was attached to a small generator on the other side of the room. She didn't use it often because sleep was usually enough to replenish most of her energy supply, but both her brother and creator had insisted that she have her energy at its maximum for this special occasion. She activated an internal mechanism that caused a layer of skin to cover up the port, hiding it from view.

Colonel exited the room as she fumbled through her closet and extricated her freshly pressed Repliforce uniform. As she slipped into it, she thought sourly: _Sometimes I wish he wasn't so...**punctual**. Well, I suppose he can't help it--army life does tend to warp your mind a bit. Does he think I'm lazy or something? It doesn't take me a whole hour just to get ready! Maybe he's nervous...I know **I** am. He probably just wants everything to go off smoothly. But, I wish, I wish I had a good deadbolt on my door!_

After she dressed and made her way downstairs, her sleepiness began to wear off a little, and that faint feeling of nervousness suddenly began to burgeon inside her, and countless doubts entered her mind. What if she screwed up? What if she made a fool out of herself? What if she failed to be accepted? What would her family think? 

She took a gulp of air and forced herself to be calm. It was only a simple registration for a non-military post, she reminded herself, and all she had to do was sit, be polite, and answer a series of easy questions. Getting a position would be a shoo-in. But God! How she wished her brother would be there with her! But he had told her himself that he wouldn't help her in the registration and the interview; being a high officer, his presence would bias the registrar in her favor, and that just wasn't cricket. Besides, he wanted her to do this on her own merits--he wouldn't coddle her.

Iris sighed deeply again and straightened her shoulders before going into the dining room/kitchen, where her brother and creator were sitting at the table, reading sections of the newspaper. She exchanged pleasantries with them before going into the kitchen and quickly whipping up a breakfast of toast and an omelet for the doctor and some energy-rich synthetic foods and drinks for herself and Colonel. She really didn't need the food, but she decided that a little extra energy couldn't hurt her.

After eating quickly and hastily putting up the dishes, Iris was called along with her brother into the entry hall by Dr. Thorne, who gave her a good looking-over and nodded his approval.

"Good luck to you, my girl," he said, lightly patting her shoulder and smiling. "I'm certain you'll do just fine." He wagged his finger at her. "Make me proud! Remember: make eye contact when you speak, reply promptly and carefully, and _be confident,_ and victory will be yours!"

He then went out into the garage; Iris heard the faint hum of the electric motor of the family's only car. While Colonel and she would be traveling to the Repliforce Headquarters via the domestic teleporter, it would not be wise to put Dr. Thorne's tough but old body through the strain of teleportation. Humans always had a difficult time teleporting; some of the more feeble ones had even died from it. Besides, their creator wasn't going to the same buildings as they were, being a head member of Repliforce.

Colonel spoke to his sister: "All right, it's time to go. I could teleport into the H.Q. itself and save us some walking, but that's only reserved for officers--you don't have clearance. We'll have to teleport to the unit just outside the walls."

"That's fine," Iris said simply. Colonel nodded and went over to the teleporter's console, punching in the coordinates. He motioned for Iris to stand next to him and, with a flash of reddish light, they disappeared.

*************

They arrived seconds later; the huge, forbidding metal outer gates of the Repliforce HQ loomed up in front of Iris, and the dead sparkle of barbed wire and some mounted laser rifles gleamed down at her. She flinched slightly at the sight; even her brother seemed small against the humongous walls and doors.

Her brother stepped forward and pressed a key on a small console. Immediately, a voice croaked out from a nearby speaker:

"Identify yourself."

"Colonel of the Repliforce, Reploid 49863. Seeking admittance."

The speaker's response was drowned out by a loud, high whinny. There was a brief, soft sound of scuffling and a few unintelligible words and then a new, familiar voice rang out.

"Colonel? It's me, Spiral! (Stop pushing! Leggo!) And you've brought company, too, I see. Gotta love the surveillance system here. When you guys get to the main fountain in the courtyard, could you stop for a sec?(Umph! Lay off, will ya? Oh, same to you, too!) I want to talk with you. Ciao!"

Colonel clapped a hand over his face and muttered darkly, "Ye gods, can't he show some restraint for once? He'll never make a good officer at the rate he's going. Storm Owl needs to do something about him."

"I think it's cute," Iris said softly. Colonel merely frowned deeper and marched through the now-open gates, making Iris run to catch up with his long strides.

The Repliforce Headquarters had been built into the shape of a perfect quadrilateral: barracks for the troops made up one side, training facilities another, while offices and various other buildings such as small shops and storehouses formed the other two. The buildings were all positioned around a central courtyard, mainly used for recreational activities. Fountains, various game courts, and even a small playground for children of human members dotted the carefully manicured greenery.

The biggest and most elaborate fountain, made completely of finely sculpted marble, marked the very center of the courtyard. As the siblings approached it, Colonel slowed down and, with an air of reluctance, stood next to it. Iris sat down on the edge.

"We might as well wait for Spiral," Colonel said, gazing down idly at his reflection in the fountain waters. "I hope he doesn't keep us waiting too long."

"He won't," Iris assured him. Secretly, she hoped that the reploid pegasus would take all the time he wanted in arriving; she wasn't in a rush to be interviewed.

Her hopes were dashed when, a few minutes later, Spiral was seen flying towards them; he skidded to a halt in mid-air and gave a salute.

"Good morning, Sir! Same to you, Iris," he greeted.

"Good morning. What's your business, Spiral?" Colonel asked.

"What's this? Can't a reploid have a nice, friendly conversation with his superiors without getting the third degree?"

"Spiral," Colonel said, trying very, oh so very hard to remain patient, "get to the point, please. Iris and I have business to attend to, and don't have much time for talk."

"Hmm? What sort of business?" Spiral's ears pricked up in pique, and his nostrils quivered.

"I'm going to join up with the Repliforce staff today," Iris explained with a smile; Spiral tossed his head up and down in glee.

"Joy!" he exclaimed. "It'll be nice to have you on our team. Maybe we'll get a surveillance shift together one of these days. Wouldn't that kick all else?"

Iris nodded and grinned brightly at him and would have given a response, but her brother spoke up before she could say a word.

"And she's going to be _late_ for her interview if you don't cut to the chase, Spiral. Please, if you have anything to say, tell me now."

"Well, Sir," Spiral scratched at his mane, cocking his head a bit and glowering slightly, "there're Hunters in the H.Q."

"Yes, I know--I was told a few days ago. They come and see how our progress is coming along from time to time. We _are_ their co-workers, in a sense. Our business concerns them greatly."

"I guess," Spiral said petulantly, staring down at his feet. "But I still think that they have _no place_ within these walls! They're snooping around--and laughing at us, I'll bet."

"They probably think the same things when some of our people inspect Maverick Hunter H.Q., Spiral," Colonel reprimanded.

"Bah! All I know is that Hunters are in this place, and I like it as much as I do the bubonic plague. And guess what? _Zero's_ with 'em."

"That's 'Commander' Zero, Spiral. I know you don't like him, but he deserves respect," Colonel reminded the pegasus wearily--they obviously had had this type of conversation numerous times before.

"Hah! 'Commander' Zero my--"

"Spiral!" Iris interrupted, unable to restrain herself from laughing. "Be nice!"

"Nice?" Spiral looked offended. "I _am_ nice. Niceness is my middle..." the reploid pegasus's narrowing eyes were riveted on something in the distance, and his jocular tone trailed off. 

"Well, well, well," he sneered--Iris didn't know horses could sneer, but he managed to do it, "if it isn't _Commander_ Modesty himself. I hate to be rude, but I'm leaving before I puke out my circulatory fluids. Goodbye, Sir. I'll see you around, Iris." Spiral saluted, spread out his wings, ignited his boosters, and soared off.

Colonel's brow remained creased, but he didn't say anything concerning Spiral's lack of protocol; instead, he took Iris by the arm and said, "I'm going to speak with Zero briefly, Iris. Someone must greet him and the other Hunters properly. I doubt they've been given a warm welcome."

A small, faded copy of that paralyzing fear of strangers formed in Iris's chest, but she nodded her compliance. But as Colonel began walking, she ducked behind him and clutched one of his arms, shielding herself behind his massive body.

He stopped abruptly; she nearly banged her nose against his back, but stopped herself just in time.

Her brother started the conversation, but Iris was so overwhelmed with shyness that she wasn't even listening to the words--they all sounded the same to her.

Then, suddenly, the arm she was grasping jerked to the side a little, pulling her face and upper torso out from Colonel's shadow. Iris felt a numbing shock run through her; what was her brother _doing?_

"And, Zero, this is my sister, Iris. Iris, Zero." Colonel shook his arm a little in emphasis.

Iris couldn't speak: here, standing right in front of her, was Zero, one of the greatest--if not _the _greatest--Hunters that was ever built, she knew, despite Spiral's aspersions. Her brother and creator had nothing but admirable things to say about him, and she thought that theirs was the better judgment. She smiled as widely as she could at Zero and nodded, getting a good look at him.

He was tall--not as tall as her brother, but well over the six foot mark. He was garbed in thick, crimson armor, and his equally crimson helmet was crested, a large blue gem ensconced in it, winking back at her. She guessed that that must have been where his control chip was stored. His face was thin and sharp, and the corners of his mouth had faint little lines that looked inedible etched there; it was the face of someone who seemed angry most of his days--she had heard that he possessed quite a nasty, easily-lost temper. He was stern, but not like her brother was stern, in a regal, judicial way; Zero was stern because he was somewhat harsh, a result of a life consisting of fighting countless battles and even being destroyed once. She guessed that she couldn't blame him for his anger--if _she_ had fought for so long against Mavericks, only to have them come back again and again despite her efforts, she wouldn't be radiating sunshine, either. She absorbed and recorded all of this information in seconds. 

And, despite his rather forbidding appearance, he was pleasing to her--he was actually quite good-looking, in that dangerous sort of way. He seemed full of mysteries, it seemed: she wouldn't have minded if she saw more of him.

He nodded back at her; it was then that she noticed a long flash of gold hanging down his back. It was his hair, and it was almost as long as hers, and hers came down to her ankles. For some strange reason, she fought against an urge to braid it, but wisely kept the notion to herself.. Zero then started conversing with her brother again; finding that she was no longer needed, Iris quietly slipped away onto the a flight of steps leading up to a nearby store and watched the two talk. 

A minute or so passed, and suddenly the store door opened up; a small blue-armored reploid, barely taller than she was, stepped out.

"Hey, Ze--oh." His voice was oddly high-pitched; Iris gaped up at him.

The reploid must have felt her stare, because he whipped his head around and looked down at her, his mouth formed into the shape of an 'o' but not saying anything. 

He had a very sweet, boyish face, almost seraphic, dominated by two deep-blue eyes, almost as blue as his armor. For some reason, Iris did not feel the expected rush of terror--something about his face and bearing told her that he was someone to be trusted.

"Hi, there," Iris smiled, waving enthusiastically. "Do you know him?" She jerked her head towards Zero.

"Hey," the stranger answered cheerfully, smiling back. "Yeah, I know him. He's my best friend."

"Then you must be...I think my brother's told me about you before..." Iris closed her eyes, trying to recall his name.

A small sigh escaped the blue reploid's lips and he shrugged in defeat. "Everybody asks that," he said with a small, almost sad smile. "My name's X. I lead the 17th unit of the Hunters."

"Oh, that's right! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just got created a few weeks ago, and I'm not very familiar with names."

"Ah, forget about it," X smiled easily, waving off her apologies. "Happens all the time. I'm used to it. I'm sorry if I sounded prissy. It's just that when everybody who isn't in the Maverick Hunter H.Q. doesn't remember your name after all these years of service--it kinda grates on you, you know? I've been on the news God knows how many times, and still people mistake me for Tellytubbie. It's my voice. It's too high."

"I think it's cute. I don't mind it at all," Iris laughed, and she realized she meant what she said. He really was an endearing character, and she liked him right away.

"Thanks. Say, what's your name? Sorry I didn't ask."

"Iris. That's my brother, talking with Zero."

"Ah! I didn't know Colonel _had_ a sister. But, like you said, you're new. I'm actually surprised you haven't met Zero before. He and your brother spar enough. They're pretty good pals."

"They certainly talk like it. My brother usually doesn't spend so much time chattering," Iris giggled.

"Yeah, and if they don't stop soon, we're never going to finish this inspection," X grumbled. He glared impatiently at Zero, sighed in defeat, and turned to her again.

"So," he continued, pouting a little in thought. "What's up with you?"

"I'm getting a post in the Repliforce ranks today--non-combat, of course! A medical helper, a courier, something. I'm nervous as heck!" Iris said, her smile quavering; X nodded, and his eyes seemed full of sympathy.

"I understand exactly how you feel. I started out in the Hunters as Cain's lab assistant--when I first trained for combat, I had to take tranquilizers to kill the embarrassment, I was so out of practice. But it'll get better, trust me. You'll do fine." X grinned sweetly and gave her a reassuring wink.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go get Goldilocks and get on with our inspection, or Cain's going to have a stroke. HEY, ZERO! LET'S MOVE IT!" X jumped off the steps and went over to Colonel and Zero. Zero frowned and gave some final words to Colonel before moving off with X; the blue reploid socked his companion in the shoulder as they went out of sight.

*************

Iris and Colonel made their way to the registration offices, and after winding their way down various corridors, they halted in front of a door with the sign: APPLICATION

SERVICES.

"Well, here we are," Colonel said, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving them an encouraging shake. "It's all yours from here. You will do fine. When you're done, you can use the teleporter outside the gates to get home. I have meetings today, so I won't be coming home until evening."

Iris nodded silently, giving her brother a faint smile. He patted her shoulder as he marched down the hallway, leaving his sister to her own devices..

When she opened the door and walked timidly into the room, Iris was met with a cacophony of shouting, feet running, and papers rustling. She was in a waiting room of sorts, and one end there was a counter with a glass window; behind the counter she could make out dozens of computers and stacks of files and folders. Humans and reploids alike were running past, mere blurs of color.

Iris slowly walked forward and reluctantly pushed the call button embedded in the glass. A few seconds later, a female human appeared at the window and opened it. She wore a uniform, now disheveled, and her eyes were slightly glazed and frantic. Her face was strained and weary, but striving to be pleasant despite smudged make-up.

"Hi," the human panted heavily, her bright cherry red hair out of place and falling into her eyes. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Um, hi," Iris licked her lips nervously. "May I ask what's going on back there?"

"Oh, just plain hell, that's all. We're doing a total renovation of the files--every soldier, courier, and janitor has to be accounted for. We're a bit busy, as you can see. I'm Sergeant Parkerson, and I'm the head of this department. "

"Is this the place for registration?" Iris inquired, feeling that, somehow, she had been lead to the wrong place.

Parkerson nodded and was about to speak, when a voice, muted to Iris's ears, called from behind. The Sergeant whirled around and shouted, "Hold _on_ a minute! _I'll be RIGHT THERE!!!"_ She turned to the gaping reploid and continued, "Yeah, you've come to the right place. I'll get someone." Parkerson turned again: "_Hey!! _Artotrogus! A little help, please!!"

A black-armored reploid, his face flat and cynical, stepped out of the chaos. Parkerson went to him, pointed to Iris, said a few unintelligible words, and then raced off the scene.

"So," Artotrogus said dully, his eyes apathetic, "you want an application?"

"Yes, please," Iris whispered.

Artotrogus produced a few sheets of paper and a pen and shoved them under nose, parroting, "Make sure you fill everything out. Write neatly, because the idiots here aren't going to spend more than thirty seconds looking at the thing, and they don't want to strain their brains figuring out what you scrawled."

"Um, okay. Thank you." Iris was nonplused at the reploid's attitude; what had she done to offend him? 

__

It's probably not personal; he looks like he dislikes **everything,** Iris concluded to herself as she filled out the forms.

Her evaluation wasn't far from the mark. The reploid watching her had once been a good soldier in the Repliforce ranks, but he had fallen from grace when he had drunk too much spiked oil one night and had gotten into a brawl with some Hunters. As punishment, he had been demoted to the legions of filing clerks, forgotten among the ink and the papers and the computers. He hated his job, and was resentful of his superiors, his coworkers, and the people he had to kowtow to--if you could call his service kowtowing.

When Iris finished and handed in the forms, Artotrogus grunted: "Hold on a moment. Let me get this stuff faxed to the people who'll be interviewing you. We'll enter this information into a computer as soon as we can, get you a pass and a record."

While Iris waited quietly, Artotrogus sulked over to the fax machine, his mind full of silent complaints and dislike of the sissy Reploid who had made him go through all this trouble. The more he thought of her, the more his resent was displaced, all of it turning against her. He wanted to spite her.

As he put the papers in, Artotrogus had a mean little thought, and he snickered. He faxed the papers to a different department, and then he switched on his wrist communicator.

"Halen? It's Art. I've got a new applicant for you. Yeah, I know she's late for the interview. Hell, it's not my fault she can't tell one end of the clock from the other. Yeah, she's in the application office. Come and get her."

*************

A few minutes later, another Reploid marched into the room and stepped in front of Iris. 

"So, you're the late-comer, eh? I'm your proctor. Follow me. The others are already taking their tests." Iris nodded and followed the proctor out; she didn't hear Artotrogus's snicker. 

"First thing you've got to do," the proctor drawled, leading Iris in front of a door with the words TESTING ROOM emblazoned on it, "is take a test. Just to see if you're not a drooling idiot. You'll do fine--if you get half of them right, you've got a good chance of getting admitted if you do well on the other tests. A retarded jellyfish could do this."

Iris would have laughed, but the proctor had opened the door and pushed her on in. In the room was a small group of humans and Reploids at some tables, their heads bent over booklets and answer sheets. Iris took a seat and the proctor plunked a pencil, booklet, and answer sheet of her own in front of her. 

"Erase all marks clearly if you want to change an answer. Make sure you don't get your numbering off--you wouldn't believe how many people do that. And, of course, don't cheat. Good luck," he droned, and then walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

Iris diverted her attention to the papers in front of her; she filled out the information requested on the answer sheet and opened up the test booklet. 

For about five minutes, her waning confidence soared: the questions were ridiculously simple, such as: **A rose is a A) mammal B) insect C) plant D) mineral.** She nearly laughed out loud. 

But after about the first twenty-five questions, the test suddenly turned impossible for Iris. Questions like **A force of six soldiers, all in single file, rush towards you. What kind of gun would be best for this situation? A) a magnum 73561XED-191 with automatic ammo lock...**

The names of hundred of types of guns, plasma bombs, tank designs, and other obscure information leapt out of her--information that Iris didn't have any knowledge about. It was then she realized: _She had been signed up as combat position applicant! She was trying out for the WRONG position!_

Her internal circuitry ground to a halt and she felt breathless: she took several gulps of hot air to clear her reeling head. What could she do? She could tell the proctor, but it'd be some time before he would come back in again, and then she would have wasted his time and her time and she would look really foolish and... 

Iris shook her head and felt a trembling in her gut: she'd just have to wait it out. In the meantime, she should at least answer the questions and not make an idiot of herself. 

So Iris was actually the first person to finish the test, despite her late start: she simply filled out dots at random, making words like ADDA and ABBA and CAD out of the bubbles. It was actually kind of fun. 

When she finished, she felt a slight tap on her shoulder. A human male sitting behind her whispered in her ear, "What's the answer to question 49?" 

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you," Iris whispered back with a regretful shrug. The human sat back in his chair and glared at her. 

"Snotty 'roid," he grunted; a small twitter of laughter erupted around them. 

The door yanked open, and the proctor stuck his head in. 

"Hey! Quiet! No cheating!" he bellowed, gazing direfully at all the test takers, who smiled innocently up at him. Some pointed in Iris's direction. 

"You be quiet. If I hear another word outta you, I'm gonna throw your butt out of here _so _fast." the proctor snapped at Iris; she bent her head over her booklet and nodded, glad that her long tendrils of hair would conceal her blush. When the proctor left, one of the humans threw a wadded-up piece of paper at Iris's head and nearly knocked her beret off. What a lovely bunch of coworkers they would have made. 

*************

After the tests had been collected, the proctor ushered Iris's group out and down numerous corridors. On numerous occasions, Iris had cleared her throat and attempted to speak to the proctor, but whenever she did, her voice always seemed to crack and dwindle down into nothing. This, to say the least, annoyed the proctor. 

"I really hope that you'll do well on the other tests," he told her after the third time she tried to speak, "because they'll usually take people like you if they can fight good." 

__

Oh, thank you very much, Iris thought ruefully to herself: she was getting increasingly frustrated at herself and frightened and embarrassed. 

The group was herded into a huge training room, which was empty save for four huge monoliths in the corners. Up on one of the walls, through a glass front, Iris could see a small team of Repliforce technicians working at a myriad of controls. The proctor turned smartly around and addressed the applicants in a ringing voice: 

"This is the combat room, where you'll be given your other two tests, both combat-related. The first test will be that of mech-handling ability. I myself wouldn't give a rat's ass about how well you can fight hand-to-hand or with a gun. Mechs are the heavy artillery of any good army, and without competent drivers, well--suffice it to say that we in Repliforce want to be a good army, the _best _army. Now, two pairs of combatants will fight each other, but there will be no winner nor loser. We just want to see how well you handle them, that's all. Who'll volunteer first?" 

"Um...excuse me, I think--" Iris raised her hand timidly, trying once again to get out of this mess. 

"Ah, thank you, Thorne! Your brother'd be proud to see such spirit. Anyone else?" 

After three more people had been selected, Iris made her way weakly to one of the giant mechs. She stopped in front of it and paled. 

It was a huge, dull gray monstrosity, mostly made of towering leg and thick, bulky arms and hard hands made for crushing--she only came up to its knee. It was like a humongous suit of medieval armor with the pilot's cockpit where the helmet should have been. 

__

Oh, I can't pilot **that! **she thought as she stared up at the mech; and then she added, not for the first time: _I wish my brother was here._

Despite the numbness in her limbs, Iris managed to climb up the footholds embedded in the back of the mech and slide herself down into the cockpit. 

One rides in a mech standing up, but the machine had last been used by a Reploid taller than Iris, and didn't know how to adjust the grate at her feet: she had to stand on her tiptoes to see. She looked around and found the button that closed the cockpit; a Plexiglas dome swished closed over her head. 

The controls before her were deceptively simple: just two handles like joysticks, and two buttons, one of which was the control of the cockpit cover. 

Feeling a very strong sense of doom, Iris pushed the remaining button with a heavy heart, and, to her surprise and terror, the mech's engine hummed to life. Iris tentatively grasped the 'joysticks' and pushed them forward--and, with a deafening grating sound, the monstrosity lurched forward! 

Iris's opponent, a red mech, came out to meet her; Iris nearly crashed into it because she didn't know how to stop. She reflexively jerked back on the handles in her fright, which caused the mech to halt in its tracks, humming silently. 

"You two," came a scratchy voice out of the speaker--obviously one of the people in the control room--on her control panel, "when I give permission, you two have at it. Remember, this isn't to the death: do not destroy the mechs. We need them for later." 

"Yessir," Iris whispered, nodding despite the fact that the controller probably couldn't hear nor see her. After a few seconds, the voice cried out, "GO!" 

Iris went, all right: she shoved the handles forward and rushed into the other mech, shoving it up against the training room wall. The red mech then began pounding her, trying to force her off. Iris's teeth rattled as the cabin started throwing her about. She pulled back and retreated, trying to regain her addled wits.

The red mech wasted no time and charged her; but before it could land a blow, Iris squeezed on the left handle--the signal for a left punch. The red mech caught her metal fist right in the chest, pushing it back. Once again, the recoil left Iris reeling. But despite her fear and nervousness, she felt a sense of exhilaration: she was actually quite good at this, and had no previous training. She was a natural! It was a great feeling-- 

The red mech's renewed onslaught brought Iris out of her happy little world, and she was bounced and bruised as she was hurled up against all four sides of the cockpit. In her desperation, Iris squeezed both handles and began fighting back; both mechs were thrown about as they rained flurries of punches on each other. 

"Stop!" the voice squawked, startling her; with a sigh of relief, Iris retreated back to her corner. She parked the mech in a very awkward angle, but she didn't care. 

As she stumbled dizzily out of the mech, she and her former foe shook hands; her proctor looked at her with what could have been considered a pleased look. 

"Not bad, not bad. You'll need work, of course, but you've got some talent, there, both of you. Next!!"

For about thirty minutes, Iris took the opportunity to catch her breath and collect her scattered thoughts as the others took their turns in the mechs. And, she couldn't help but observe with some pride, compared with most of the group, she was actually a good mech driver: only the members who had received some form of mech training or had been operators of heavy machinery beforehand performed better than she did. 

"Now, the last test. As a member of the Repliforce, you will be expected to have a natural athletic and combat ability--or at least the ability to learn such skills. Those gentlemen up there will simulate various enemies for you all to fight. They are not real, but if they nail you, you're going to feel the pain. Believe me. It won't _harm_ you, but it'll hurt like nothing else."

The proctor then brought out a large ammunitions case and handed out weapons to the applicants who weren't equipped with arm cannons or beam-sabers. Iris herself was handed a small yet powerful laser rifle.

Without a word the proctor signaled again to the technicians, and suddenly the room was plunged into complete darkness; some of the female applicants yelped.

The lights returned, but before them Iris saw a small army of battle drones of all types, and even some floating balls, which, from the looks of things, shot lasers. Iris seriously thought about holding her breath until she passed out, but the drones would have probably just trampled on her head, so she decided against it. The drones then charged.

Iris never did remember much of the fight, mostly because she was so frightened: she, like most other people, did not care much for being in a position where she could be shocked, bruised, or worse. 

Besides, everything happened so fast. One moment Iris was standing still, clutching the rifle to her chest, the next she was shooting blindly at enemies who were stinging the hell out of her--the proctor had been right, those things _did_ hurt...and how!

She was hit so many times that Iris was thrown into a freak of desperation; her aim, already bad, was now atrocious. She managed to shoot her fellow applicants on three occasions. If her rifle hadn't been set to 'stun', then her teammates would have been dropping like flies. Nasty words were shouted at her, but she was too busy being stung to hear them.

The worst was reserved for the end. One of the drones managed to nail Iris right in the small of her back; her legs, weakened by the pain, suddenly gave out, and she toppled head over heels, not stopping until she hit the wall, coming to a rest with her head on the ground and her legs folded over backwards. It was awkward and extremely painful, and her legs were in such a position that her skirt had fallen down to her thighs--prompting the males to hoot and holler.

"Oh, my _Gawd!"_ one voice marveled. "Wouldja _look_ at that--"

Iris stifled a gasp and quickly flopped over backwards onto her knees; her cheeks throbbed as her face became a mask of bright pink. The laughter continued, and the proctor stepped forward.

"I think," he said, "that you're a bit out of your league, girl. I've seen your type before: all preppy and stuck-up just because you live in a nice house and have preppy humans to nursemaid you. Hmph--I bet you've never had to sleep in a stasis pod. A nice, cushy bed is all that'd do you for you. Tenderfeet! Shouldn't be allowed within three miles of the H.Q.!"

"Hey, man," one of the spectators cautioned, "lay off a bit, will ya? She _is_ the Colonel's sister...and Dr. Thorne's her creator."

"Colonel and Dr. Thorne never fired anybody just because they told the truth," the proctor snapped. "She's a tenderfoot, and she knows it; everybody knows it. You go home to Daddy and Big Brother, now, little girl. Go on home."

He stared down at her, waiting for her to get up, but Iris had frozen into place. The blood throbbed in her ears, and she was made dumb by the utter shame and embarrassment, and for one moment she forgot where she was; the room blurred in and out of focus. Her chin quivered, but no tears came.

An outraged squawk sounded faintly in her ears. She shook her head and blinked her eyes to clear out the fuzziness, and what she saw made her drop her jaw.

Spiral, who had been passing by, his shift in security ended, had heard the sounds in the room and had stuck in his head to get a view of the action. And he had caught every word that the proctor said. And now he was dive-bombing the proctor, spinning the hapless Reploid this way and that, screaming things in a high squeal at the top of his lungs that probably weren't very complimentary.

After he had batted the proctor around like a pinata for a few seconds--everyone was too surprised to intervene--Spiral gave his victim a good kick in the posterior and glided over to Iris, standing stolidly in front of her.

"I don't know who you think you jack-asses are," Spiral growled, "but if you think you can insult and make a fool out of _my_ friend, then you've got something else coming!"

"Spiral, you idiot! She had it coming--you should have seen her perform..." someone began, but the pegasus gave him a look that was pure poison.

"Shut your hole! I don't care what happened--you just don't treat her like that. You just don't. She's really shy and can't handle flak from assholes like you."

"I don't care about her feelings! So she's sensitive...I'm not going to make special concessions just for her," the proctor spat, wiping off some circulatory fluids that were dripping from his nose.

"Maybe you don't care--but _I do._ And I'll be damned if I'll ever let my friend be treated like that and stand still for it! So _you. Just. Shut. The. Hell. Up._" Spiral's flared nostrils quivered and his wings were rigidly spread out as far as they were able; in short, he looked as enraged as all hell.

Iris felt herself being gently lifted up; Spiral supported her weight and practically carried her out of the training room. When they were in the corridor, Iris let go of him and sank down into a sitting position, fanning her hot face with her beret, trying to choke back tears. Spiral sat down next to her and gave her cheek a timid, but friendly, horsy lick; his breath smelt of fresh grass.

"You okay? What the heck happened in there? If you don't mind my saying so, I didn't think you'd be trying out for a _soldier's_ position..." the pegasus whickered, his ears askew in confusion. Iris managed a small laugh and shook her head, holding up a hand for silence.

"I'll be all right. I'll be all right. I really don't want to talk about it. I think that someone screwed up. I _didn't _apply for a combat position, but...I got sent here anyway! Some clerical error, I suppose."

"What're you going to do now?"

"I want to go home," Iris said thickly, closing her eyes--she felt so overwhelmingly homesick and ashamed to be seen that she nearly began to cry again.

"We-ell," Spiral hedged, looking up at the ceiling, "I could take you. I'm off my shift, and nobody cares what I do, anyway."

"The resident trouble-maker, hmm?" Iris couldn't help but grin a little.

"In the metal."

"But I don't want to get you into any more deep water than I already have...I mean, you're not going to be getting away with that little scene you caused without some punishment. I might have gotten you court-martialed, for all I know!"

"Bah! They're used to me, here. Besides, I can't go to jail for defending a friend. And if I _can,_ I'd gladly leave if a person can't stand up and say what he thinks. I've gotten away with worse," Spiral shook his head derisively, looking quite smug. "So, do you want to be taken home or not? Your call."

"Please." Iris could have nearly kissed him for sheer relief. She wanted to be anywhere but here.

She got up and followed Spiral out of the building; when they reached the courtyard, Spiral stopped. He looked a bit embarrassed.

"Okay, um..." he began, tugging at one of his ears shyly, "well...you see..eh heh..well, Iris, here's the deal: unless you want to be tugged along like a piece of laundry, then you'll have to...um..."

"Oh, don't worry about it!" Iris laughed, patting his arm reassuringly. "Don't feel embarrassed. I won't mind."

"Good! Good!" Spiral breathed a bit more easily. "Well, I'm ready when you are."

He lifted Iris into his arms, taking care to be touching the hollows of her knees and her lower back only; Iris put one arm around his neck for extra support.

"Ack! Too tight, too tight! There. Ready? Away we go!" Spiral ignited his boosters and they soared off into the sky, leaving the Repliforce H.Q. behind. And good riddance.

*************

On the way home, Iris found out something: it was Spiral's ambition to defy the laws of physics as often as he could. Think of the fastest, scariest, most gut-wrenching roller coaster you have ever ridden. Now imagine riding it without any restraining harnesses and at nearly five hundred feet above the ground, and you'll have a pretty good idea of what her journey with Spiral was like.

"Ah! This is da life, isn't it, Iris?" Spiral asked happily while performing a barrel roll; Iris grimaced and clung to him tighter.

"Please, Spiral, could we stop for a moment?" she requested, shouting over the screaming winds. "I need a break!"

"Wimp," Spiral scoffed, but he dropped down to about forty feet above ground and started skimming for a suitable place to land. After some searching, he located an empty patch of space in a park, and he executed a bumpy landing.

Iris pried herself off the pegasus and stumbled a few paces; then she put her hands on her knees and hunched forward, panting heavily.

"Oh, come _on!_ It wasn't _that_ bad," Spiral snorted, crossing his arms and grinning.

"Says you," Iris gasped, shooting him a look. "Listen, I'm going to walk around for a few minutes to get my bearings back. I think you've scrambled some of my wires, Spiral."

"Waah. You go off and have yourself a bang-up time. I'll be here," Spiral airily waved his hand expansively over the area; Iris smiled and left him to his own devices.

*************

As she walked along the sidewalk, her head began to clear, and a vague sense of alarm began to form in Iris's mind. She had failed. Never mind that it had been a mistake--she had failed her creator and brother miserably. The sordid little details of her embarrassment would spread around the Repliforce barracks like a vicious disease, and eventually her brother would hear of it, and he'd surely tell her creator, and what then?

Immediately she began to fear the worst: her creator would be extremely angry--maybe even have her reprogrammed, or dismantled altogether! He certainly had the power and the means to do it.

Panic set in, and Iris began to run for absolutely no reason at all--she simply _had_ to do something, anything.

She suddenly skidded to a halt, barely missing barreling over a group of humans. She looked around, and found that she was no longer on the sidewalk: she had stumbled into a grassy knoll covered with people, people who were watching a small group of musicians up on a raised platform.

Iris, her curiosity piqued, watched the little musical group set up their instruments, tuning and polishing them. There were some various string players, a trombonist, some woodwinds, a couple of trumpeters, and a drummer. A man dressed in a nice suit--the conductor, she deduced--appeared in front of the group and bowed to the now-applauding audience. After the applause had stopped, the conductor turned to his group, raised his baton, and then brought it down.

What happened next was miraculous.

Iris had been programmed with libraries of mathematical, scientific, and linguistic information, but she had only the barest bones of musical knowledge--only the definitions of certain words such as _clef, bar, and not_e. She had also heard various forms of music from television, radios, and other sources, but she had never actually _seen_ music made. Until now. And she was enthralled by it.

The music, unhindered by any middle medium, throbbed and pulsed in her ears with a fresh, raw, exciting sound, wrapping her in a cocoon of wonder and awe. She looked at the hands of the string players--how delicate yet how strong they were, caressing the strings, vibrating along with the notes! She looked at flying fingers, the pursed mouths, the beads of concentric sweat forming on the musicians' brows--and it all seemed beautiful to her.

Iris closed her eyes and let the new sensations sweep all around her, soaking up every note into her brain and mulling over it just like a gormet savors the smell of his food before gobbling it all up. The more she heard, the more she wanted _to_ hear: her brain analyzed every single note and dissected its beauty.

All too soon, the music ended, and Iris reluctantly opened her eyes. She watched the human musicians prepare for the next piece, and she felt envious of them--if only she could be up there with them, in the very heart of the music!

But she couldn't stay any longer: Spiral was waiting for her. Sadly, Iris turned and went back the way she came, and her heart ached.

*************

"Well, there you are! You certainly took your sweet time!" Spiral called to Iris when she came into sight. She didn't feel like answering his teasing--she was too wrapped up in the memories of the beautiful experience she had just gone through.

"What's with the goofy face? You didn't get a spiked oil drink, did you?" Spiral demanded, peering into her face; it was then that Iris noted some blades of grass wedged in between his big, square teeth.

"No, I did not," she responded flatly, "but it certainly looks like you've been treating yourself. You eat _grass_ to get your energy?"

"Well, duh. Y'see, these here," Spiral opened up his mouth wider to display his flat teeth, "aren't suitable for eating normal foods--synthetic or not. I've got a special converter that turns the fiber and other stuff into energy. Ain't it grand?"

"Very nice," Iris sighed. "Can I go home now?"

"But of course. All aboard!" 

He lifted Iris into his arms and shot off like a rocket--much to his passenger's distress.

*************

Before long, Spiral landed on the front lawn outside the Thorne residence.

"Well, my doom awaits," Iris sighed, her gloom descending over her again. "Thank you, Spiral. You don't know how grateful I am to you. I hope you don't get into trouble."

"Like I said, they're used to it. Now, don't you worry. Everything's going to be fine!"

"Said Custer to his troops," Iris muttered, but she couldn't help but smile at him.

Spiral rolled his eyes and snickered, "Your gloom is _mag_nificent. One day you're going to be on so much depression medication, you're going to need an IV. I can see it like a vision!" He spread out his hands in front of her face.

Iris decided not to take the bait; instead, she settled for patting him fondly on the muzzle. "I suppose you're right. I'll live. Don't be a stranger, okay?"

"You can count on that. See ya, sweetie!" Spiral whooped, performing a beautiful back-flip as he ignited his engines. Iris waved as he departed, and then entered the house.

*************

The house was empty, of course, and Iris didn't expect the other members of her family to arrive for lunch. She flopped on a couch and, inexorably, her mind mulled over her failure.

That old panic set in again, and Iris grabbed a pillow and pulled and pushed at it desperately, a small humming cry escaping from her closed lips as she rocked back and forth, back and forth. She imagined her creator's response over and over, each time he grew angrier and the punishment grew more dire. And she ached for her brother, and wished over and over that he would be the first to come home--then she could confess to him, and perhaps he'd help her face up to the doctor.

The hours that followed were pure torture: sick with fear, lacking the heart to do anything except wander aimlessly through the horrible emptiness of the house, Iris simply sprawled out on the couch, hiding her face in the pillows. She missed lunch, but she had gotten enough energy from breakfast and her recharge that it didn't matter

Finally, after the slow hours, minutes, and seconds, the dreaded hour came, around six o' clock. The garage door opened and closed; Iris jumped and scrambled out of the chair, her hands twitching nervously. She felt sick to her stomach.

"Iris, I'm home!"

"Hello, Sir!" Iris called back, trying to keep her voice calm.

Dr. Thorne poked his head into the living room door and smiled widely at her.

"Ah, here you are!"

He came into the room and advanced on her, his face shining with expectation.

"Well?" he inquired cheerfully. "How did it go?"

She couldn't keep his gaze; Iris dropped her eyes to the floor and blanched.

"Oh, Sir--I...I..."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Sir, they messed up my application form--they thought I was trying out for a combat position, and...It was terrible," Iris's voice fell to an almost inaudible whisper, and she was trembling at what he would say to her.

"Well," Dr. Thorne said after a long pause, "that's quite all right, Iris. It wasn't your fault. You can always try again tomorrow."

"N-No," Iris stammered, much to her own horror; was that really _her_ voice that spoke up?

"Come again?" Dr. Thorne asked, his gray brows moving closer together. 

"I'm not going back to the Repliforce." Iris couldn't believe it; it was if the words were spilling out of her mouth without her telling them to. What monstrous audacity! 

"And what," Thorne's voice was calm, deliberate, and utterly horrible, "do you mean by that, my girl?" 

"I mean--that is, I just feel--Oh, I can't go back there! I'd die of the shame. They'd laugh at me and abuse and haze me, and--" 

"Iris Thorne," the doctor snapped, advancing on her, causing her to retreat against the wall, "do you forget that you're my creation? You _will _go back and apply again--and that's an order!" His benign attitude had completely dissolved at his prodigal creation's stubbornness. 

Iris shook her head--and for some reason, this set off Thorne's temper. Normally, Thorne was a calm, cool man, but when he _was_ incensed, it was a wise idea to go into hiding and not come into contact with him for a few days.

"Why," he sputtered, his voice shaking, "you little coward. That's what you are: a little coward! Too scared to try again! I've never heard anything so foolish in my entire life. You keep it up, and you'll never be of _any_ use to _anyone!"_

"_Please_, Sir!!"

"You be quiet! You're going back first thing tomorrow. And that's final!" 

But it wasn't just Dr. Thorne who was losing his cool. Despite of her fear, a sense of desperation welled up within Iris's spirit: she would not, _could_ not go back to the place of her humiliation, and if it didn't sit well with her creator--well, to hell with it! 

"No!" she screamed at the top of her lungs and flattened up against the wall, her voice strident. "I'm not going back! You can't make me, you old goat!!"

"Why, you insolent little--! How dare you talk to me that way! Got a lot to say, haven't you?! God damn it all, what a little hellcat I've created! If you don't shape up and show your creator some respect, little miss, I'm going to take you back to the lab and have that wretched CPU removed!" Thorne roared, his mouth drawn into a hatchet-sharp line, and snapped his fingers in her face, barely missing the tip of her nose. 

"I'm not going! Don't you lay a hand on me, old man!" Iris cried. She was nearly fainting with the terror and hurt, but she simply was _determined_ not to go back: he'd have to tie her up and drag her all the way back if he wanted that. 

Dr. Thorne didn't respond to her words. Instead, much to his creation's horror, his face turned a bright purplish-red, and the veins of his neck and forehead started to show and throb. His breathing became labored, and his eyes--his old, hard eyes--were flashing terribly at her. He looked like he was choking on his own rage. 

There was a flash of black and white in front of Iris's eyes. She blinked, and then saw Colonel--or, at least, the back of him. The two had been so engaged in their familial fracas that they had not heard him teleport in, nor did they see his form come into the doorway, nor did they hear his heavy footsteps. Colonel now eased their gasping creator down to a chair, kneeling beside the old man and speaking in firm yet soothing tones. The doctor's breathing came easier and his face lost a little of its red color, but his flashing eyes were now glassy and pain-racked. 

Colonel turned a genuinely angry face to Iris. "Iris," he snapped the words out as if they were red-hot crisps of fat, "get out of here! Go on, get out of here! You've upset him enough for one night--_get out!!"_

She didn't need to be told twice: hurt because her brother ha never yelled at her before, and terrorized at the sound of his voice, Iris pried herself off the wall and rushed out of the room, the view before her going fuzzy with unspilt tears. 

*************

Iris exited the room in a haze of vast, overwhelming shame, hurt, and frustration; she could barely see where she was going, but her legs involuntarily staggered towards the recreation room. She dropped underneath one of the pool tables and stared up at its grainy, lacquered wood; her breath was hot and sticky and bitter-tasting in her mouth, but no tears came. She simply looked up at the underside of the table. 

She tried to blot out the memories of what had been done and said, but she could not delete the view of her creator's angry face, the veins on his forehead throbbing wildly and his eyes beetling under his brows; that rough, choked voice grated incessantly in her ears, repeating all of those horrible words; she still felt that searing, strangling sensation in up and down her guts.

Iris was not angry--she was too hurt and flustered to feel any sense of resentment. As she stared upwards blankly, her thoughts congealed into this one conclusion: It seemed beyond her power to be able to do anything right. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how good her intentions, she would never be able to be useful to anyone or anything.

But why was this?--the question spontaneously popped into her mind. Surely, there had to be some explanation to _why_ she had failed! But what? What was the reason?

Iris pondered on this. There was only one answer that made any sense: It was because she wasn't square, because she wasn't right--some internal flaw within her personality was to blame. She was flawed.

A small moaning sound erupted from deep inside her chest, and Iris flopped over onto her side, cradling her head in her arms, her eyes closed tight; a small trickle of saliva made its way down the side of her mouth.

She never knew how much time had passed after that--perhaps it had been an hour, maybe only a few minutes; but in the deep, black vortex of her misery, time did not matter to her--she was uncomprehending of all things except her own twisting, excruciating thoughts.

The dull, heavy sound and feel of footsteps broke her out of her little cocoon. She warily opened one dull eye and numbly observed as the footsteps stopped outside the rec room door; the door swung open, and she saw a familiar pair of metal boots.

Iris did not stir, even as her brother's feet came inexorably towards the pool table. She didn't care what happened, even when the boots stepped within three inches of her nose.

"Iris." 

Her brother's voice was neutral, as it often was, but there was a certain edge to it that stirred up a feeling of apprehension. She gritted her teeth and waited.

"Get up."

__

Now she knew she was in for it--Colonel only used such curt brevity when he was extremely agitated and displeased. For a brief moment, Iris wished to the heavens that she had one of those little cyanide pills with her to swallow. She had never seen (or heard) her brother so angry before and was afraid to come out, but dared not to do otherwise. She reluctantly emerged from underneath the table.

"So," Colonel said, his eyes scowling in his passive face, "hiding under your rock, I see. Are you done?"

Iris's face flinched, but she reached out for him and practically threw herself against his hard armor, which did not yield to her touch. She peered up at him and saw no change in his demeanor.

"Iris, listen to me," he continued, disengaging her arms from around himself. "Stop sniffling. Come on, stand up straight!" He reached out and tugged up on her shoulders, and he was not gentle about it, either.

"Listen. I don't care about what happened to you today--your behavior is inexcusable. Look at you! Crawling under a _pool table_ like a mutt! And your actions around our creator were even worse; you don't act that way, Iris. Not to the person who gave you life."

"But...but..." Iris stammered, trying to choke back tears, wringing her hands; Colonel reached out and snapped his index finger against her cheek. It wasn't meant to be brutal or abusive, but it was so unexpected and sharp that it stopped her right in her tracks.

"See? You're doing it again," Colonel said coldly. "Making excuses. Feeling sorry for yourself. Iris, if there is one thing that I hate above all else, it's a person who feels sorry for himself. I don't tolerate it--not from any of my soldiers, and especially not from you. Be quiet, don't cry."

Iris regained her composure and wiped her face.

"Good. Iris, don't antagonize our creator. He's been working very hard lately, he's not young, and he's tired. He doesn't need any trouble at home, understand? We've got to make him feel like he can get some peace here. He certainly can't get it anywhere else."

Iris fought down the impulse to say that Dr. Thorne was the one who had started the whole wretched business, harping on her so about her failure, but she wisely decided against it. Instead, she nodded mutely.

"Go on up to your room," Colonel said, "but don't you dare feel sorry for yourself. Find something to do. Read, write, clean, do _anything_ except mope and fall into a bout of self-pity. By God, maintain some modicum of dignity!" He departed.

For a little while, Iris stood stock still, and only the movement of her breathing and the flickering of her hair across her forehead gave the impression that she was even alive. Suddenly, her jaw clenched. She walked out of the room and up the stairs to her bedroom.

*************

When she arrived at her room, Iris looked about her blankly. The place had always been tidy, as mess was her mortal enemy, but as she perused over the place, digesting every detail, she saw filth and ruin about her. Dust lay thick on the very tops of the highest shelves. The dark blue carpet needed to be vacuumed--no, it needed to be shampooed. Everything needed to be corrected _at once._

For now a irresistible, tugging impulse lodged itself into her brain, overriding all else: she must _work._ She must make herself useful for once, she must labor long and hard; if she didn't she knew that she would spiral down into the well of detestable self-pity again, and that was something she would never do again. She couldn't bear to feel so utterly wretched again.

Her limbs stirred into action, and suddenly Iris was a whirling dervish of cleanliness. She fetched a rag and dusted everything in sight; the Thorne house had no shampooer, so she had to make do with vacuuming; the bed was remade and the covers so meticulously taut that there was not a wrinkle in them. Then she went over to one of her shelves and rearranged all her few possessions in perfect order. She got out some cleaning fluid from the washing room and washed her bedroom windows spotless and even repositioned the drapes till they were perfectly straight.

Heavy footsteps were heard outside her door, swiftly coming closer. Iris hastily shoved all of her tools into the closet, wiped the slight sweat off her brow, and straightened out her beret before flopping on top of her bed, sitting up.

A brief knock sounded at her door, and after only a moment's pause, the Colonel banged the door in and entered. His barging in through doors always bothered Iris--it was a bad habit he acquired from working with the Repliforce, what with having to frequently check up on his troops and such. 

Colonel scanned the room; one eyebrow arched at the sudden cleanliness, but he did not bring up the subject. He instead turned his gaze upon his little sister, and it was detached but not unkind.

"Iris, let's have a little chat, shall we?"

She gave a slight nod, and he gently, very gently, eased himself slowly beside her on the bed, taking care that he didn't break anything with his great weight. He removed his cap, revealing a tousled thatch of brown hair, and cleared his throat.

"He's very upset," he began awkwardly--he obviously didn't know where to start.

"I know," Iris replied; she stared down at her tightly knotted fingers in her lap, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm afraid he's very disappointed in you," he continued slowly, his voice calm but somehow betraying that he hated what he was saying. "I tried to say that you hadn't been quite ready, but he didn't listen."

Iris blanched, but didn't do anything else but say, "I know, I know. I'm sorry that I talked back to him, I really am. I didn't mean to..."

"Of course you didn't. _I _certainly wasn't expecting him to take it so hard. But he truly wants you to join up with the Repliforce, Iris. It's his wish. Couldn't you try again, for his sake?"

"No," Iris said, the firmness entering her voice again. "For the last time, _no!_ I'm sorry, Brother, but I just can't do it. I just can't."

"Can't, or won't?" Colonel demanded; he spoke to her like he would a disobedient recruit.

"Oh, fine," Iris sighed, trying her best not to whine or sound like a shrew, but not quite certain if she was succeeding, "I _won't_ do it. Because if I ever went back, I couldn't--_couldn't--_hold up my head for shame. I embarrassed myself and the whole family...oh, it was bad. The Repliforce isn't for me, brother. It just isn't."

A long pause. Iris felt her brother's eyes bore into her, and she fidgeted with her hands as he regarded her coolly. She couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"What happened there, Iris? I want to know what was so horrible that it prevents you from even trying to redeem yourself," he demanded gently, but in a voice that brooked no refusal.

Iris recapped the whole affair in the training room truthfully, omitting nothing; sometimes she spoke so swiftly that the words slurred together, but, except for a certain red tinge to her cheeks, she remained calm.

When she got to the part about toppling head over heels and giving everybody a good glimpse of her gluteus maximus, Colonel put his hand over his mouth. She continued on, even though she began to fume internally; she knew him too well to know that trick, trying to look stern and concerned. He was smirking at her.

He removed his hand after she had ended her tale, trying to look very sympathetic yet stern, but not quite pulling it off; the smallest hint of a smile twitched at one corner of his mouth.

"So, that's how it all started," he said gravely. "I will see to it that nothing of that sort happens again. Sergeant Parkerson is a good, competent officer, but she can't watch all of her staff at once, and some of those clerks--I swear, they can be nasty. Clerks." He almost snorted the word. "Most of them are good, decent men, but when they're not...they can an absolute disgrace. Even Sergeant Parkerson has been lodging some complaints. There needs to be an overhaul of that department, soon."

"I wouldn't want them to lose their jobs just because of me," Iris said softly. Colonel shook his head and responded: "They were like that a long time before you came along, Iris. It's my duty to make sure that everything runs smoothly in the Repliforce, and if a few clerks are causing trouble...well, then they've just got to go! It's the part of my job I least like, but it must be done. God knows I've discharged people before, and I'll do it again. Don't worry about it."

"But," he continued, his voice a bit lighter, "I must remember to commend Spiral. He did well, helping you out. A good soldier, a very good soldier, despite...some aspects of his personality."

Iris managed a small laugh, and she cheered up some at the memory of the kindness. "Oh, yes! Isn't he the best? Good old Spiral! I like him so much." Then she remembered. "He won't get in trouble, will he?"

"No...we've come to expect it from him. I'll be sure to censure him, but nothing more. And I think that he would gladly return your sentiment," Colonel said, a touch of smug dryness in his voice and eyes. Iris then realized her mistake. "He likes you, too."

"Oh, great. Just great! I'm going to be pursued by a love-struck horse!" Iris groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "Just what I needed."

Colonel didn't say anything; he merely chuckled lightly.

"It's _not_ funny!" Iris cried, exasperated beyond belief. "I think the world of Spiral, he's been so kind to me, and I want to be his friend...but not like _that!"_

"I wouldn't worry about it," Colonel assured her gently, "I know Spiral. He's by nature very chivalrous, and quite a rake. He flirts with every girl he knows. It's his way of showing affection. But he really is quite fond of you and desires your friendship."

"I'll gladly give it to him. I want to be his friend, too. I just don't want to get his hopes up."

"He'll get the hint. You won't break his heart; he's too resilient. But, now, Iris, back to the original subject. I really don't see why you can't reapply for a position. There's no reason for you not to. It was a mistake, Iris, and you can't let something as trivial as that stop you. It would mean so much--to both me and our creator. Iris, don't you want to...to _make_ something of yourself? You would start of slowly, but I am sure you would rise to an honorable, respectable position. Isn't that what you want?" Colonel's voice grew stern at the last few questions, spitting them out like he was a part of the Inquisition; there was nothing cajoling about them.

Iris licked her lips nervously at the severe tone and had to calm her wits and think a moment.

"Sometimes," she began slowly, idly tracing designs on her knee with her finger, "I would like to be more than I am. Something better. But it just doesn't feel right, working in the Repliforce. I don't know if it's the military aspect, my embarrassment, or what. It's not for me. I just can't work in large, organized groups. I feel so small--even smaller and more insignificant than I do at home, but when I screw up everybody seems to know about it. At least when I'm here, I'm happy. I don't know why. I just love it here."

"But Iris, you can't live like a hermit! It's just not healthy. You must _do something_ with yourself. I won't have it. It is your duty to be of help to the humans, to other reploids, to _society._"

"There must be some other ways than just being a member of Repliforce," Iris mused, her smooth voice belying a thread of terror.

"You're impossible. Simply impossible," Colonel snapped, crossing his arms; his neutral demeanor was crumbling.

"No, I'm not. I'm just thinking aloud. But I really want a quiet life, I really do." Iris paused a little and scanned her thoughts; one image stuck out in her mind, and she decided to take a gamble and talk to him about it.

"When Spiral took me home, we passed by the park," she said, "and there was a small little symphony playing, a nothing fancy, all local talent. When I stopped to listen, I felt happy. I really can't describe it. I don't know anything about music, but...I _really_ enjoyed it."

"Well, of course," Colonel replied. "Music is a great thing. We both listen to it all the time. But Iris, I don't see--"  
"You misunderstand. I don't just want to listen to it. I want to _play_ it. I don't know why, I just do. When I listened to the music and saw those people playing...It was gorgeous. Everything seemed to melt together. I want to be a part of it."

Colonel put his hand up to his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "He won't like it. Not at all. A _reploid _musician. It's not cricket."

Iris's heart crashed and she felt horrible once more. "I thought our creator liked music, too."

"He does. But, well...he likes it, but doesn't understand it. He thinks it's a frivolous profession, and it doesn't pay well to boot--unless you're one of those rock stars. Iris, I've never heard of such a thing! Music's fine, I suppose, but I can't fathom how you can love it so much just because of a little gathering in a park. It's irrational behavior. Besides, what symphony would ever take a reploid?"

"I didn't say it was going to be a profession," Iris said, trying to cover the wounded sound in her voice, "I just want to try it out, that's all. Brother, I just need some more time to adjust. I want to try out a few things, see what fits me best. I want to learn things, do some studying. Lots of reading. Perhaps I can find a job that I'll really enjoy and do well at. And maybe I'll save enough money to buy me a nice, cheap violin--it's my favorite instrument." She laughed lightly. "But, of course, I'm just rambling. I should take it one day at a time and think about the present."

"It's good to think ahead. And perhaps you _are_ a late bloomer. We'll take it one day at a time," Colonel said slowly. "But don't you think you can just sit around and twiddle your thumbs all day. You're going to work around this house."

"That's what I had in mind, and I think it's a glorious set-up. I'll enjoy it."

"My sister, the recluse. Emily Dickinson, eat your heart out," Colonel muttered acerbicly; Iris giggled. 

"I might have some people over once in a while," she mused amusedly. "Spiral would like to come over a lot, I think." Her voice now grew serious.

"You're not disappointed in me, are you, Brother?"

Colonel reached over and placed a heavy hand on her head, a gesture he had never done nor would do again, and he said, "Of course not. I am a bit disappointed that you've given up so easily, but I am not disappointed in you. But I see now that you're much more...delicate than I originally thought. You feel things more acutely than most...you're very sensitive, I see that now. I always had an idea, but..." He peered into her face, re-evaluating her; she flinched under his gaze.

"But it doesn't matter. Truth be told, Iris, I am rather pleased. Do you know that you're the first person that I have ever felt truly close to? I can talk with you about things that I don't bring up with our creator, and my men expect me to be distant...and I oblige them. It's good to have someone to talk to." Colonel suddenly looked rather abashed, and he gently lifted himself up off the bed.

"It's been a rough day. Go to sleep, little sister." He turned to go out the door, and then, over his shoulder, he added, "And by the way, I saw the results of your written test. You flunked."

"Oh, I hate you!" Iris half-shouted, half-giggled; she grabbed one of her pillows and chunked it at him. He caught it easily and threw it right back.

"There are only two things I truly love in this world," he said, his levity replaced by his usual solemnity. "One is the Repliforce. And the other is you. Just remember that."

He left her then, and Iris felt a warm burble in her chest; she was wanted! And from that moment on, her brother had always won her unwavering loyalty and love--she felt ready to die for him. She never did forget his sometimes strange and awkward, but sincere, kindness, and was forever in his debt.

Iris sank back down into her pillows: her heart was aching, her body was bruised and her back and neck were strained with whiplash, but she felt hopeful. She shucked off her arm and leg-guards and threw them unceremoniously into the closet--she'd never need them again. She took off her beret and looked at it, and decided to keep it: she thought it looked good on her. She did remember to carefully remove the Repliforce insignia, though; knowing her luck, she'd probably be arrested for impersonating an officer if she left it on.

Iris closed her eyes and smiled.

Things would be fine as long as her brother was with her. She was sure of it.


	4. Daddy

CHAPTER FOUR: DADDY

_Quick Note: I declare this chapter a total piece of crud. I don't like it at all. But don't worry! It'll get better (I hope!). You deserve a Purple Heart. :)_

The next day after the fight, Iris entrenched herself in a totally new lifestyle, and soon everything became structured into a set routine.

Each and every morning, she rose up at five o' clock and went into the kitchen, taking about an hour to decide on and prepare breakfast; after she washed the dishes and cleaned up, Iris then saw her family off to the workplace. 

It was after both men had gone that she really got down to business. The house was large enough that it was very easy to find at least one big cleaning job every day. There were many shelves to dust, rugs to beat, carpets to clean, creaky windows to fix, flowers to tend to, grass to cut. Iris worked tirelessly, and kept the whole place gleaming clean.

When the housework had been completed, Iris usually had quite a bit of time for her own leisure. Then at five o' clock, it was time to start fixing dinner; unless there was some dire urgency or surprise meeting, her creator and brother were both home at around six. If he wasn't too preoccupied, she usually spent the remainder of the evening with Colonel, retiring to bed at nine thirty. This little agenda, simple as it was, never altered once, even on the weekends; Colonel and her creator's duties were so many and pressing, they were usually on call. Which was just fine as far as Iris was concerned. It felt nice, after the long bout of sudden changes and revelations which had come after her creation, to have something predictable and dependable, despite that she often missed her brother terribly.

The hardest time of the day for the reploid was the space between the chores and dinner, when she had nothing to do. Iris simply could not stomach sitting on a chair, watching early afternoon television (which usually consisted of soap operas and infomercials about feminine hygiene products), the winds from the open windows rustling aimlessly about her and through the empty rooms. The silence was almost horrible at times. And there were always those rebellious, self-pitying thoughts lurking in the back of her mind, waiting to spring on her when she could no resist any longer, waiting to reduce her back into a sobbing fit, her greatest fear.

Iris came up with several ways to make this time slot a little more bearable. Dr. Thorne's personal library was large and full of interesting things--she spent a good deal of her time reading books and magazines, though sometimes their meanings were lost on her. She also enjoyed listening to music, both on stereo and radio; she went for walks. Iris also set about the business of finding some type of employment that suited her. She really did look around in earnest, but nothing either suited or appealed to her. Over a few days, her fervor died down, the shyness took over, and it became evident that she wasn't going to be taking any drastic steps anytime soon, much to Dr. Thorne's chagrin.

Dr. Thorne's initial anger had disappeared, but it was still difficult for Iris to live at peace with him. Most of the time, he was decent enough to her, and there were no more ugly confrontations, but he treated her with a coolness that could almost be reckoned as indifferent. Sometimes snide remarks would fall from his lips, but they were few and far between. She could speak to him about certain things, but Iris knew he wasn't really listening to her--he had totally given up on her ever making something of herself. Eventually the reploid abandoned the notion of telling him anything meaningful, not even caring to say when she disagreed with him on something. Occasionally he would give her a _look_ when he was especially weary and irritated, a _look_ that frightened her and almost felt like it physically hurt her; Iris felt absolutely sure he would rip out her accursed CPU and replace it at such glances. Still, she masked her feelings behind a smile and sprang up at his every beck and call, waiting silently in the shadows when she was alone in the room with him. She had promised her brother that she'd give the old man no more grief.

The more time passed, the more Iris withdrew within the recesses of the house, never emerging out from beyond the front yard unless going on necessary shopping trips. In truth, she was scared of the world outside the sphere of her home. The newspapers and television told of nothing but catastrophe, dolor, and cruelty, and her own infrequent experiences only reinforced what she heard and saw. Iris was particularly shocked once when she made a grocery shopping trip: there, working at the check-out as a bag lady, was an ancient woman, probably eighty years old. The old woman's thin, blue-veined hands had shook as she put items into a motorized cart which followed customers to their cars. It nearly broke Iris's heart, and she never could get the image out of her mind after that. 

However, despite this rather depressing account, Iris was not unhappy. She liked her work and was content with it, the reading and music gave her stimulation, and she wasn't altogether lonely. Colonel could be fine company when he desired to be, and Spiral came over twice a week for visits (often cutting work to do so). Iris was of the sort of person who did not need many friends; to her, Colonel and Spiral were as good as ten companions. The pegasus made her laugh with his quirky humor, her brother continued to teach her what couldn't be read in books, and both were sympathetic listeners. Dr. Thorne's displeasure did not concern Iris when she was with these two. _So what if I disappoint him?_ she would think to herself. _My brother and Spiral love me, and that's all I need._

And the idle hours became more pleasant, no longer filled with the frantic urgency of finding something to occupy the time--due to three particular instances.

*************

About a month after the Repliforce fiasco, Colonel had come home early from work, a parcel held under his arm. 

"Sister, I have here something that I think will please you very much," he said mysteriously, dodging her questions about his early arrival. He handed over the wrapped rectangular bundle, and Iris ripped open the paper.

Iris looked down at the gift: a violin case made of durable, rough, shiny red material lined with black.

Inside the case, cradled in velvet, a full-sized instrument of premium-grade wood winked up at her. It wasn't the professional high-quality sort, but very well suited for her needs. On the underside of the lid was a pocket which held some sheets of music, including a chart which displayed all the different notes and bowings, correct posture, and everything a beginner would require.

The reploid screamed with delight and threw her arms around Colonel's neck, nearly throttling him. He managed to extricate himself eventually, attempting to regain his dignity.

"I paid a good sum for those things," he said with a perfectly straight face, "and you had better practice, Iris. If not, some singularly unpleasant discipline will be called for. I don't think you would enjoy that."

"Don't worry about a thing," Iris said, face flushed with pure joy. "Oh, Brother, thank you! You don't know how happy you've made me. Is this a face that would let you down?" She nearly wept.

She practiced learning the basics every day. At first she sounded atrocious, the strings screeching, then gradually, with tenacity, she improved. Iris knew that she wasn't the best musician in the world, but the thrill and joy she got out of playing her violin overrode the broken strings, strident sounds, and finger calluses. Besides, who was there to hear her, and who was she harming? Colonel went up to her room to listen and give a bit of encouragement every now and then, but he was her only audience--she never practiced when Dr. Thorne was in the house, because Iris knew it would annoy him. 

*************

The second incident came a few days after Iris received her violin. She had completed the cleaning and was practicing a scale when the front doorbell rang. As she put the instrument down, the bell rang again and again rapidly, almost as if it was jammed.

Extremely surprised that there was a caller at this time of day and a little annoyed at his impatience, Iris quickly opened the door to reveal a Repliforce soldier. The soldier looked almost exactly like her brother--for many of the common ranks were actually based on Colonel's design--except he was smaller and had different trimmings on his uniform. He looked fidgety and nervous.

"Hello," Iris greeted. "How may I help you, Sir?"

"Is this where the Colonel lives?"

"Yes, it is."

"Is he at home, by any chance?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

The soldier stopped his fidgeting and looked down at the ground. "Damn."

Iris immediately knew there was some sort of urgent business about; nothing else would have caused such a breach of protocol. "Excuse me," she said helpfully, "but perhaps I can help. I am the Colonel's sister. What exactly is the problem?"

"You will pardon my speech, ma'am. But I have some classified documents for your brother's perusal only, and I've been trying to contact him all day. Whenever I get to where he used to be, he's never there. All day it's been a game of cat-and-mouse for me, and, frankly, my patience is wearing thin. Somebody told me that he had gone home for the day, but now it's evident that he _didn't--"_

"No," Iris shook her head, "he never comes home this early in the afternoon."

"That's just splendid. I'll have to go all the way _back_ to the Headquarters, find where he actually _is,_ hope that he doesn't move an inch until I get to him..." The soldier looked like he was going to have a fit. "I don't have time for this! I have more important things to do."

Iris tried to think of an answer when the soldier looked keenly at her, a hopeful gleam on his face.

"Unless...Ma'am, do you think you could deliver these papers? I know it's totally against regulation, but I really _am_ pressed for time. You're his sister--I'm sure they'll let you do it. Tell them it's urgent, and for the Colonel's eyes only. Here, these are the documents, and this pass will get you in wherever you need to go."

"I really don't think--" Iris stammered, totally taken aback at this strange request, but the soldier was already thrusting a packet and a small badge into her hands.

"Come on, I'm sure you can do it," he declared with a hearty nod; before Iris could do anything else, he speed walked briskly away, leaving her in a bit of a quandary.

The reploid stood in the door helplessly for a few moments; then she heaved a sound of defeat. Iris began to talk to herself through her thoughts. 

"Well, it looks like I'm stuck. How in all that's good and true does he expect me to go through with this? I have half a mind just to throw these things in the mud." She shook her head. "No, I can't do that. Brother needs these papers. Swell. Ah, what to do? What--to--do? I know! Spiral. He can help me. He'd better."

Iris whirled around and made for the nearest video phone. Spiral had given her the code number for his communication systems, which he kept activated at all times. She had decided not to contact her brother, because she feared he might be in some sort of confidential meeting, and it might bother him. Spiral was free at all times, was never bothered, and had the authority to admit her into the Repliforce H.Q.

After she had dialed the code onto the video phone's pad, a scratchy, faint voice chirped cheerily over the speaker: "Al's Sausage Factory. What's your beef?"

"Spiral, this is Iris."

"I surmised as much, my friend. What can yours truly do you for?"

"To be brief, a Repliforce soldier just came up to my door, said that he had important information to give my brother, but that he had been looking all day and still hadn't found him. And then he just shoved the things into my hands and left me in the lurch. I don't know what else to do, so I'm going to teleport to H.Q. But I need someone to let me in. Could you fly back from wherever you are and give me authorization? I would really appreciate it."

"Would I deny anything to my light o' love?" Spiral crooned over in an utterly saccharine voice. Although he knew now that she would never return his affections, the pegasus had not held one ounce of resentment towards Iris, and was quite content to serve her in any way possible. He still liked to proclaim his feelings every once in a while, simply because it embarrassed and flattered her, and he thought she looked so cute when she blushed.

"Oh, stop it," Iris mumbled, "and thank you very much."

"Don't mention it," Spiral chittered blithely. "I'll be there as soon as I can to let you in."

*************

Presently, after only a slight delay to wait for Spiral, Iris found herself once again in the halls of Repliforce Headquarters, trying to look dignified as she hurried nervously along. Bad memories remained in this place for her, and she did not like returning here.

Spiral, ever-helpful, had taken the liberty of inquiring about the recent whereabouts of Colonel when coming to Iris's aid, and had reported that her brother was in yet another meeting, giving the room's location and number. With a little bit of arguing and intimidation on the reploid steed's part, admission to the meeting had been granted, and here she was.

Iris hesitated outside of the conference room for a space; she feared that her brother would be mortified and angered by the interruption. But what was she to do? She had come this far, and she might as jolly well deliver the things. The time for changing anything was long past. Iris realized now with a twisting feeling that she could have simply asked Spiral himself to give Colonel the papers and save herself all the trouble. She wanted to bonk her head against the wall.

Inhaling deeply and steadying her shaking knees the best to her capabilities, Iris knocked on the door and opened it.

Her brother sat at a large oaken table in a room otherwise devoid of furniture; three other reploids were with him, one of them so huge that his mass took up nearly half of a side of the table. He was a regal dull gold in color, sporting a black chin and faceplate which covered up everything below the nose; huge spikes jutted out of his shoulder-plates. This was the General, commander of all the Repliforce. It was the only time Iris ever saw the great reploid in person. She was terrified, even though the goliath looked benign enough.

Iris's eyes flickered over to Colonel, and, besides a muted look of astonishment, he didn't react at all to her arrival. He was not angry at her. Iris felt a reserve of courage well up within her, and she bowed to the distinguished gentlemen, taking off her beret.

"Sirs, I have some confidential documents for the Colonel. Please pardon my interruption, but it was imperative he received these," she spoke up, her voice shaking a bit a first but growing steadier. She felt that she handled the situation very well, and, as she quietly laid the packet in front of Colonel, she knew that he did, too. 

Her face was calm as she exited the room; but for the first time in many, many days, Iris glowed with secret pride.

*************

Colonel was sufficiently impressed with Iris's performance, more remarkable since it was under duress, that, when he came home that evening, offered her a proposition. She would become his personal secretary, messenger and stewardess, in a sense. The position entailed writing down dictation, filing, organizing, and running messages, along with countless other little things. He hated all the tedious paperwork that the less glamorous side of his position brought in daily, and, by letting his sister help him, relieve him of much of his burden and give her something to do. It was very strange, and Colonel himself never mentioned it once, but a tacit understanding seemed to exist between the two sibling reploids. He somehow knew that Iris was suffering from sever ennui and craved stimulation.

For her part, Iris was delighted. She didn't mind clerical work at all, even, since her 'job' was unofficial, she wouldn't earn a salary. Money didn't matter to her; she had no use for it. Most importantly, she would be repaying her brother, for he had been kind to her throughout her little crises.

The hours then became productive and passed pleasantly enough. Iris worked like a maniac, swift and efficient. Great ledgers with expense accounts were tallied up with facility, letters proofread, some typed, and all from the comfort of home. She became so reliable and useful with just a few weeks' experience, Dr. Thorne started to let her handle some of his affairs. In fact, Iris practically took over the financial dealings of the household, managing the family's bank accounts and paying out the bills. Dr. Thorne had veto power over her and had access to a select few private documents, such as his will, but, in all else, Iris handled the money.

She was extremely happy now. Everything passed by pleasantly and busily, yet Iris still had time to practice, entertain Spiral during his visits, and sit with her brother. The outside world seemed farther away than ever. 

Iris did not come to the outside; the outside had to come to her.

*************

The third incident was the one that would have the greatest impact on Iris's life, though nothing significant seemed to come from it at first.

It was early evening on a Saturday, and Iris was beginning preliminary preparations for supper, when she heard the front door open and close. Her brother did not come home early very often, but it had happened before on several weekend occasions, so she was not totally surprised.

She went from the kitchen to greet Colonel. As she stepped into the living room, she noticed that the Maverick Hunter Zero was with him. Iris opened her mouth yet made no sound; however, Colonel, though conversing with Zero, noticed her entrance and turned around after completing his sentence.

"Hello, Iris," he said, his eyes more cheerful than the norm. "I do believe you remember Zero."

"Yes, I do," Iris forced out the words, giving the crimson reploid a timid smile, pulling at her fingers. "Nice to meet you again." She looked at her brother. "What brings you home so early?"

"It has been an unusually uneventful day. I was given leave to come home about an hour and a half ago, but Zero and I had a phone conversation before I left, and we decided to spar a little." It was then Iris noticed that both of them had little beads of perspiration spangling their brows, and looked a bit fatigued and hot in the cheeks.

"Well, it looks like you both pulled out all the stops. Won't you both sit down? Would either of you care for a drink?" Iris gestured to the couch, her eyes riveted on the ground.

"Thanks," Zero finally spoke; his voice was actually quite warm, seeming so out of place that Iris peered up at him. The reploid's rather harsh face had a very pleasant look, his lips not smiling but not nearly pressed so tightly together, either. "I'm not really that thirsty now, but I'll probably take you up on that offer later."

"My friend here," Colonel said dryly as he also took a seat, "has a bit of an eye for liquor. Lock up the wine cellar, Sister." Zero gave the soldier a look, but gave his head a bit of a saucy tilt.

"Brother!" Iris chided, feeling much more at ease, "don't insult our guest. You must have done very well in sparring today. You're hardly in ever such a mood as this. Tell me how it came out."

"It was a stalemate. Your brother gave me one hell of a time," Zero answered, nodding in Colonel's direction. "He's one of the few sparring partners that ever gives me any trouble."

The two reploid men chatted about a few trifling things that Iris had nothing to do with, so she waited, quietly attentive. One part of the back of her mind was impatient to get on with dinner.

"Are you ready to take up on the offer of a drink, Zero?" Colonel queried subsequent to a few minutes of their talk. Iris sat up a little straighter in her chair.

"If you please."

"Don't get up, Sister. I shall fetch something suitable." Colonel rose from his seat and disappeared into the kitchen.

Iris felt the hint of a blush creeping into her cheeks as she looked down at her fidgeting fingers; she had no clue as to what to say or do. Of all the times for her brother to be overly hospitable! 

Zero fixed his deep green eyes on her with frank curiosity, and he spoke to her:

"To tell you the truth, I let your brother win a few matches. He's an excellent swordsman, but he needs more experience. I didn't have the heart to let him lose, though. He's just so earnest about it."

"Oh, he is! Dueling is one of his passions. He hasn't seen much true combat, so he rarely ever gets to use his skills. But you must have seen a lot of action the past years," Iris said, casting an oblique look at him.

"Yeah."

She searched around frantically for some kind of question. She could not find anything very tactful, so Iris decided in desperation to cut her losses and blurted out, "How many battles have you been in?"

"More than I can remember," Zero said with a slightly sardonic smile. "Haven't taken count."

"What's it like, being a Maverick Hunter?"

"It's nothing special. My unit doesn't see much action since we only get the really bad cases. We only get called on once or twice every six months or so, sometimes even longer than that. I spend the time in between working on patrol or training. There's not much to tell, if you want to know the truth." He shrugged. Iris saw that Zero was sitting at a considerably stiffer angle, and his mouth was firming up again; she sensed that he did not like talking about himself, and that to pry any further would make him withdraw even more.

"I see," she said after a bit. "How did you meet my brother?"

"Some of the other Hunters and I were sent to compile a report on Repliforce's progress--it was when the program had just been fleshed out--and I saw him training. He looked like a good challenge, so I asked if I could spar with him. Gave me a pretty tough time, too, but I beat him. He asked me for some pointers, so I gave him some. It just went uphill from there." He paused. "And you? What do you do all day? It's your turn to talk."

"I don't go out much," Iris said slowly, feeling embarrassed, "and there's not much to say about me, either. I do all the chores around the house, help my brother with his paperwork."

"Sounds pretty boring."

"Oh, it's not that bad. I'm pretty busy most of the time. I usually can find things for me to do in my free time."

"Like what?"

"It's kind of embarrassing," she mumbled; Iris did not like talking about the things she enjoyed, for fear that she would be laughed at.

"Well, I'm not gonna force you to talk about it," Zero shrugged again.

Iris pondered her situation for a moment, and then ventured to speak again, her voice soft and small.

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"Of course."

"I like music. I have a violin which my brother got me, and I listen to the stereo all the time. I just like it, that's all. Weird, isn't it?"

"Whatever makes you happy. People say that I like chopping up Mavericks into tiny little pieces, so I guess I can't tell you that you're screwy," Zero said, his voice flattening. For her part, Iris was appalled.

"Do you? Like destroying Mavericks, I mean?"

"It's what I do; I was made for it," Zero said testily. "I don't regret anything. If they're a menace to society and won't come to terms, then they must be destroyed. Going out into the hunt's one of the few exciting things in life for me. After five months of doing almost absolutely nothing, I'm glad for the chance to do _anything._"

That strange trembling panic rose up inside of Iris, and she labored to keep her breaths normal; she knew that she had not been discreet, and Zero was now annoyed. She hated being of any nuisance to anybody. Not only that, but the reploid's remarks had disturbed her profoundly. His mindset was arrantly alien to her--she could not comprehend it at all.

"Please pardon me," she said very softly, "I didn't mean to pry. I'm sorry."

"Forget it," Zero waved her off easily, his former attitude returning now that the danger was past. Iris felt her spirits rise a little, but she now had run out of subject matter. What on earth else was there to divert him with until her brother returned?

Then, as if by a miracle, Colonel walked in, carrying a tray of beverages one glass of a dark liquor, the other two simple carbonated drinks, the reploid equivalents of Cokes.

"I have taken the liberty of getting us some refreshments for ourselves," he explained, offering up one of the glasses with exaggerated formality. Iris grinned, took the drink, and snuggled back in her chair. All was right and comfortable once again.

As the trio talked easily amongst each other, Iris could barely keep herself from wriggling with delight. Her uneasiness and fear disappeared, and Zero didn't intimidate her quite as much. He had such a reputation for sternness and an almost callous indifference to death, but now, as he sat across from her, he was actually likable and friendly. 

"I had better report back to the H.Q.," Zero announced following a half hour, rising up from his seat. "My unit needs training. Thanks for everything."

"You are always welcome in our home, Zero. Until the next time we meet," Colonel nodded, also rising; he shot Iris a prompting glance.

"It was a pleasure to actually meet you, Zero," she valedicted cheerfully.

"Same here. See you around, Iris," came the response; Zero nudged her on the shoulder while he passed by her chair as Colonel escorted him out the living room door.

"Well," her brother asked when he came back, "what did you make of him?"

"He's very intriguing," Iris murmured, feeling suddenly shy. "I thought he was much more serious and stern than that."

"He usually is. But you'll find out, dear sister, that many people have countless facets to their personalities, each one surfacing at different times as the situation demands. Nobody is constant."

No, I guess they're not," Iris concurred absently, slowly retreating back into the kitchen.

As the pared and sliced at various vegetables, Iris found that her thoughts kept on drifting back towards Zero. The more she thought about it, the more enthralled she became. His attitude sometimes shocked her deeply and frightened her, but it also was exotic and captivating--she had never seen the like of it before, and wanted to delve deeper into the reploid's psyche. She could not fathom how he could have smiled and even joked with her and her brother, yet still be the same person who was infamous for his anger. But for all that, she liked him, and had a secret desire to see him again, at least once, even if they didn't speak one word to each other. _Looking_ at Zero was entrancing enough.

However, Iris's attention was soon diverted away from Zero during the matter of Dr. Thorne's illness.

*************

As of late, Dr. Thorne's already rather fragile health had begun to deteriorate. The lines around his mouth and on his forehead grew deeper and strained; he walked with a cane and hunched shoulders; he lost weight rapidly, and was racked with a persistent cough that made his whole body quake. Yet he would not alter his schedule for anything. When either of his creations tactfully suggested that he might consider reducing some of his tasks, the doctor would reply rather acerbically that he would never do such a thing, and that neither of them was to bring up the subject again.

Iris grew distressed and exasperated. All she and her brother were doing was trying to be sympathetic and mindful of their creator's health, yet he wanted none of it. She often thought of forcibly dragging the man to the doctor's, but knew she would never do it. Besides, when she was alone, a nasty little voice deep inside her mind would say that if the old man was determined to waste away and die, it was his own affair, and the best thing was to sit back and let him do as he wished. She wanted the whole retched business to be over, and not have to wait in the shadows, watching her creator dwindle and peak away day by day.

Then one day, the bottom fell out. The phone rang, and when she answered, Iris saw Colonel's face on the viewscreen. His face was drawn and his eyes were troubled.

"What's the matter?" she asked. She thought that she knew the answer, but there always was a margin of error...

"Dr. Thorne is in the hospital," came the dull, dreaded answer. "He collapsed during a meeting and was rushed here. I was just informed about it thirty minutes ago."

"How is he?" Iris asked faintly.

"The doctors told me that he's still unconscious, but that he will recover in a few days and be able to come home if he so desires. But--"

"But what?"

"He's dying. It's estimated he has only about two months left."

Iris's legs shook unsteadily, and her arms ached with the exertion of supporting her up against the table. "Dying! Of what?"

"Cancer. It began in his colon, and now it's spread throughout his lymph nodes and into his bones. He has malignant tumors growing in his intestine. There is no chance for remission; he's too far gone for any treatment to work on him. I don't think that he would have wanted to have been treated anyway."

"Will they keep him up there?"

"That depends on our creator's wishes when he regains consciousness. Personally, I wouldn't count on it. He will probably return home in a few days."

"Where is he? What hospital, and what room? I'll get down there as soon as I can," Iris spoke rapidly.

"No, Iris. They will not admit anyone into his room. The doctors are all over him, and they mustn't be disturbed. I shall come home in a few minutes. I'm sure we'll be contacted when Dr. Thorne is ready to be taken out, if he chooses to do so."

"All right."

They said good-bye, and Iris turned off the screen. She walked over and sank down into a chair. One hand lay closed tightly in her lap while the other one stroked unthinkingly at one of the soft parts of hair hanging next to her left ear, and she waited.

*************

Dr. Thorne arrived home three days later. When she heard the car entering the garage, Iris opened the door and waited in the frame, watching as her brother got out and helped their creator out from the passenger side. The old man looked sallow and apathetic, and he could hardly stand while Colonel reached in and brought out a wheelchair, sitting the old scientist down in it.

Iris would have stepped forward to greet them, but she was rooted in place when she saw a middle-aged lady step out of the back seat, carrying a satchel.

"Hello, there!" the nurse--for Iris could not see what else the woman could have been--called out. "Is this the last member of the family?"

"Yes, it is. How have you been, Iris?" Dr. Thorne smiled weakly as the motor of his wheelchair propelled him forward.

The reploid swallowed and forced the words out of her mouth: "Worried sick, Sir." She nodded towards the nurse. "Is this your--?"

"Indeed. Nurse Harriet, this is Iris." Dr. Thorne gestured towards each of them in turn.

"A pleasure to meet you," Nurse Harriet said, shaking Iris's hand. In response, Iris put on her most amiable expression and murmured a reciprocation. 

The little group shuffled in through the doorway. Iris did not feel like going inside; she wanted to be alone. Nevertheless, she went along anyway.

*************

Days passed, and Iris found the situation nearly intolerable. For some reason that not even Iris could determine, Nurse Harriet's presence was most unwelcome. Like clockwork, the woman arrived each day at nine in the morning and stayed until eight. Iris didn't actually see much of the nurse; Dr. Thorne had been confined to his upstairs bedroom, and Harriet spent most of her time there, which was probably for the better. 

It was not that Iris disliked Nurse Harriet, for she was cheerful and very kind. Yet the reploid always experienced bouts of jealousy whenever she saw the nurse; she felt that her duties and rights were being infringed upon. Harriet waited on the doctor now, cooking _his_ food, making _his_ bed, helping _him_ change clothes. Iris felt worthless and without merit to see how easily her work could be taken over, but also chastised herself for not welcoming the affable woman into the house. Still, the uncomfortable feelings and thoughts never went away, and just when she needed more work to occupy herself, there was less to be had. It was simply intolerable--she could not even practice her violin, for fear it might disturb the doctor. So after her chores, Iris usually crept up into her room and lay on the bed, feeling utterly miserable She knew that it was shallow and stupid and would gain nothing, and that her bother would have killed her if he saw, but if she kept quiet, then who would be the wiser? Iris needed something in which to do while she waited.

On a nice, mild evening, Iris and Colonel sat out on the porch swing. They hadn't spoken much to each other, but she felt assured by her brother's large presence; things didn't seem quite so bad in his company.

The door opened with a click, and Nurse Harriet stepped out into the evening air.

"Iris, the doctor wants to speak with you--alone," she announced, adding the last word as Colonel rose alongside his sister.

"What is it? Is he...?" Iris whispered, dreading the answer.

"Oh, no," Harriet chuckled a little, "he's still got some time left. I guess he's just lonesome for you." She turned to Colonel. "He'll talk with you, Sir, when he's through with her. He awaits, Iris."

Iris followed Harriet to the foot of the stairs and, left on her own, ascended.

The room smelled of dust and ether. It was uncomfortably warm, and Iris felt an unclean sensation all up and down her skin, as if she hadn't washed for days.

Sitting in the middle of his great mahogany bad, balancing a pad on his knees, was Dr. Thorne, wearing loose, rather silly looking striped pajamas. His now sparse gray hair was limp and matted, and liver spots dotted the skin of his skeletal, claw-like hands and his forehead. To Iris, he was one of the saddest sights she had ever seen, just as sad as the old lady working in the grocery.In fact, looking at any aged person made Iris unhappy--they were all so weak and fragile-looking, and nobody wanted them around. She could not see how they could endure it, and was thankful beyond measure that she would never grow old.

"Hello, Sir. How are you feeling?" Iris asked quietly, placing her hands on the bed's footboard.

"Passably," the doctor said, face straining a little as he spoke; he gazed on her with exhausted, deep-sunk eyes.

__

"That's good. You wanted to talk to me, Sir?"

"I did. You know, Iris, I am a dying man. I'm not going to last much longer. And, as hokey as it sounds, I would like to have one final talk with you, while I still can think straight. When a person is as old as I am, he wants to tie up all the ends so that he can crawl towards death with a peaceful heart. You won't have to pretend you'll miss me."

"Oh, Sir, don't talk like that! Of course I'll miss you. You're my creator; you made my CPU. A reploid only has one creator, if you think about it. "

The jaundiced eyes wrinkled up a little. "Very dutiful of you, I'm sure. Even more astonishing since I've never been very affectionate towards you. I know I should have tried a little harder, but--well. I know you can't help it."

"Help what?" Iris demanded, the familiar twang pinching her chest. Following it, she felt something close to anger, but yet not quite hot nor impassioned enough; it was more like annoyed impatience. "Oh, Sir, I really wish I knew why you don't like me. Does Repliforce really mean that much to you? We might as well be honest with each other."

"Repliforce _does_ mean much to me. I was one of the founding members, and I've worked hard on its behalf. But for all that, that's not the main reason. It is because you're weak, Iris. You're the weakest being I know, and I think it's a shameful thing. I despise your weakness." Dr. Thorne's voice, level and steady at first, gradually grew into a derisive tone. "It has made you less than what you could have become. Look at you. If you had shown some spine and tried again after being embarrassed a little, you might have been a helpful, productive citizen. That's all I ever asked for. But you wasted the potential you had, simply because you were too _shy._ What do you do all day? Sit around and do the house chores, and playing on that violin of yours. You could have been a highly respected courier officer, but you've turned into a maid! If I wanted a maid, do you think I would have intended her for the service? You disappoint me, Iris, and that's that."

"Oh, Sir!" Iris cried, hiding her face in her hands, tears trickling unbidden down her cheeks, "how can you say that? I'm good to you! I clean your room, do your taxes, cook your meals, wash your dirty clothes! I do everything I can to make your life easier, and you hardly ever once said 'thank you' to me! We can't all be couriers and warriors and scientists." Her voice trembled and lowered its pitch. "Sometimes I wonder why you even created me at all."

Iris shivered, and teased her bangs nervously; she feared she was going to be yelled at, which she hated.

Dr. Thorne winced a little as he leaned forward, but his eyes were bright and alert. "I suppose that you, above all others, have a right to know. I'm glad you asked; we can make a totally clean breast of it at last. Would you like to hear everything?" She nodded, and he continued, "You must promise me never to tell anyone else, except your brother. That's your decision--I won't say a word. Not even the two men who helped create your body know the real reason."

"I promise."

"Good, good. When I came up with the blueprints for Colonel, I had in mind the design for a reploid that would be a consummate warrior, and serve Repliforce in a high position. But with the outbreak of three Maverick revolts, my team and I all agreed that he needed a check of some sort, something to ensure that he would not be a threat to humans. We had already completed Colonel's main CPU, so I designed an auxiliary chip that would simply add to the current program. This chip, Iris, would not give him any specific personality alterations, but simply instill in him a peace-loving nature. He would fight if required, but he would always lean towards harmony. We built your brother's body, but when I installed the two chips, he didn't activate. We ran a scan, and realized that his two chips were at odds with each other. For all my work, I could not implant a peaceful nature into a born warrior's body just as an afterthought. His body nearly exploded from the strain--thank God we removed the auxiliary chip in time! I was very disappointed in my failure, but I decided to activate your brother anyway, and I was most pleased. He turned out to have a fine personality, and I saw I never had a reason to install the blasted auxiliary anyway. Ye I thought it was a shame to throw away a perfectly good CPU that I had spent many hours on, so I modified it, made it into a CPU that could provide life-functions on its own."

"Was that my chip?" Iris whispered; the room seemed to spin around her in a dizzying arc.

"Indeed. I have always known why you two get on together so well. So you see, Iris, that is why I never intended you for battle. I didn't intend for you to have no spine, however. But we can't do anything about it now, and it's who you are." He gazed sharply at her. "I do not wish to harp on you at this point in my life, but, Iris, you _really_ must think about the future for once! When I'm gone, will you leech off your brother for the rest of your life?"

"I do not think so, Sir. I help him in any way I can. He seems to be grateful for it. But," Iris added ruefully, laughing a little, "we've been over this before. I'm not meant to do anything significant, and I'm sorry that I never made you proud of me. I really am. But don't be sad--you got lucky with one of us. Colonel is a very great leader. It's not every day a person creates a reploid of his like!"

"Yes," the doctor sighed wearily, sinking down into the depths of his mattress, "Colonel is my greatest creation."

She stared down at the old man, and she wanted to say more to him, but he seemed so small and sick, the bed almost eating him up, that she felt sorry for him, and wanted to start crying again.

"Yes, he is," Iris said, smiling wanly at him. She went around to the side of the bed and started straightening out the slightly crooked sheets and fluffing his pillow. "Don't worry about a thing, Sir. We'll manage all right, you'll see. I'm glad we talked. There. Is there anything else I can do for you? I'll do anything I can."

"Send in your brother to me, please. We have things to discuss."

"All right. Anything else?"

"No." He reached up and gave her chin a tug. "My pretty little rainbow."

Iris turned around and hastily left the room, closing the door behind her without a sound. Walking down the stairs, she felt like she had been beaten, and every word he said to her rang in her ears. She seemed so insignificant; nobody likes to have their life reduced to a blur, and she couldn't even think about it without her thoughts threatening to scatter into pieces.

Yet she was glad it was all coming to an end. Iris blew out a sigh and walked outside with lighter shoulders.

Colonel still sat on the porch swing; his head was bowed, one hand brushing across his forehead.

"Brother? What's the matter?" Iris inquired gently, seating herself next to him.

"He's very close," he said heavily, not meeting her eyes. "We have much to do. We'll have to make funeral arrangements, and pay the bills, and then there's the wretched business of the house--"

She had not even thought about the house. Under law, reploids were prohibited from inheriting human property, not being true kin. Dr. Thorne had no living relatives that Iris knew of, but there could have been some distant cousin out there, or perhaps the government would take possession of the place. Either way, they would have to leave. That meant packing up all of their things they owned, filling out countless forms, and--the things to be done were staggering.

"Surely Repliforce would be able to provide something for us? I'm certain that they'd help us out," Iris spoke up after a few minutes.

"The odds seem to be in our favor. The General would probably be glad to accommodate us until we find our feet. I have earned a good sum of money in my tenure as second-in-command, but it won't last us forever if we keep on living hand-to-mouth. But we will need a place to stay for a little while, until we can relocate." Colonel's face twisted into an angry snarl, his teeth clenched together. "In all my life, I never thought that I'd be begging the Repliforce to give me food and board! What will my troops think of it? It's hard, it's hard! I hate it!"

"It will only be for a little while, Brother. We'll make it--you'll see. I'll do the best that I can to help; it won't be so bad," his sister soothed, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "In fact, I'm kind of looking forward to it. Just you and me!"

"And Spiral, to a lesser extent," Colonel gave one of his rare, wry chuckles, his shoulders losing their tenseness.

"And Spiral," Iris giggled. "We'll turn out all right. Think of it! For once, I can practice whenever I please!"

*************

Nine days later, Dr. André Thorne died. Following a funeral which was kept as private as possible, the two survivors packed out, tied up all the loose ends as quickly as they could, and moved into the Repliforce barracks until they found a suitable new home.

During their stay, Iris donned on her silly uniform and re-tested. She signed up as a courier.


	5. The Heart of a Schoolgirl

CHAPTER FIVE: THE HEART OF A SCHOOLGIRL

Iris, her daily duties completed early, decided to pay a visit to the H.Q.'s main communications room; she had started work nearly a week before, and had not seen one trace of Spiral the entire time, and she missed the pegasus. He had not come over for a visit since Dr. Thorne died, out of respect.

"Well, well, well," Spiral called out at her entrance, "looky! I never thought I'd see you in that uniform ever again."

"Isn't it the stupidest thing you ever saw? I feel foolish," Iris giggled, holding out her arms, and gave the wide skirt a reprimanding glance.

"Ah, my sweetness, a burlap bag would look good on you," Spiral winked. "Sit, sit!"

The wall in front of the two was lined from the middle up to nearly the ceiling with monitors. Their phosphorescent glow illuminated the faces of those in the rather dark room with ghostly shadows, glaring off their cheekbones and eyes. Iris's eyes strained, and she pushed back her chair a little ways.

"I can't see how you can just stare at these things for two hours straight," she remarked. "It gives me a headache, and I'm not even looking directly at them."

"Don't knock it, you. It's because you're in at the wrong time. The night shift--not that I'd really _know,_ but I hear the stories--has a pretty good time. They see the most _amaz_ing things, let me tell you."

"I don't want to be told, if you don't mind."

Spiral leaned back in his chair, looking at her somberly. "I'm serious now, though. How has it been for you, Iris?"

"It's been decent, I suppose," she admitted a bit uncomfortably. She had not spoken to anyone about the circumstances of her creation, not even to her brother, and thinking about Dr. Thorne pained her. "My brother and I have gotten by very well. We've found a very nice apartment, roomy enough for the both of us, and it's just a matter a time before we move in. Colonel's especially glad; living in the Repliforce officers' quarters was a deep blow to his pride."

"Egos heal. Don't worry about him."

"I know."

"And how has everyone been treating you? No flashing your dainties at the other couriers, I hope." Spiral's nostrils shivered mischievously. Iris's cheeks turned bright red, and she laughed.

"Will you _never_ let me live that down?"

"Nope!"

"Jerk. Anyway, I've stayed out of trouble." She paused, searching for a new topic of conversation. "Say, have you heard about the new program that's going to be implemented soon? The one where lower Repliforce and Hunter officers can be exchanged?"

Spiral's wings rattled in anticipation of an unpleasant subject. "Yeah."

She didn't know why she was telling him this, but, knowing her friend's fits of pique, it was probably better than letting him find out on his own. "Colonel says there's a good chance that I may be transferred to the Hunters as a spotter."

"Awwwrk!" Spiral pitched forward and belly-flopped on the floor. "Say it isn't so!"

"I'm afraid it's true," Iris said, trying not to giggle as she helped the pegasus up off the floor. She had barely got him back in his seat when the door opened, Colonel's massive bulk looming in the frame.

"There you are," he said. "I thought I sensed an unusually convivial air in here."

"We were just talking about the newest exchange program," the sister answered, happy at his entrance.

"Indeed? How fortunate, because that is something I wish to talk to you about." Colonel stepped into the room, his eyes focused on her intently. "You know that you have been considered to be transferred. Well, today I heard that you've been chosen."

"No!" cried Iris and Spiral simultaneously. Spiral was on his feet.

"What kind of brother are you? Letting your own dear sister fall into the clutches of those...those beasts! Have you no pity?" Spiral wailed. 

"And," Colonel pressed onwards, ignoring the outburst, "I hear the Special 0 Unit is in dire need of a spotter. I would not be surprised, Iris, if Zero takes you underneath his wing for a time. I've talked with him about it, and he says he'll keep an eye on you."

"Oh, God," Spiral moaned, clutching his chest, "you're killing me."

"That's wonderful!" Iris said. "I'll feel more at ease there with X and Zero around to help me. When do I start? What do I need?"

"A porcupine-tipped chastity belt and some mace," Spiral muttered. Colonel placed an arm around her shoulders and led his sister out of the room--if they stayed, he never would have gotten a word in edgewise.

*************

Iris brushed nervously at some invisible dust specks on her spotter's uniform, working her throat to get rid of the itchy dryness inside. Reploids and humans bustled past her, some giving her an inquisitive glance or two before going on their way, and she was painfully aware of the looks. She didn't know where to go. She had arrived at Maverick Hunter H.Q., and she was standing out in the hall like a ninny, too afraid to ask anybody where to find help. She wanted to go back to her brother.

Just then, glory be, a beacon of crimson red flashed in the corner of her eye; Iris turned and nearly started to run towards the figure, grappling to a surge of hope like a lifeline before she even consciously recognized the vision.

"Zero!" she called, eyes sparkling.

"Hey there," he said easily; he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a small smile. "I thought you were around somewhere. First day, huh?"

"Yes. Are you going to meet your unit? I have to report somewhere, I guess, and I don't know my way around quite yet. You don't mind taking me?"

"'Course not. Follow me. And before I forget," Zero turned around, walking backwards as he spoke, "if you ever need any help, just call for me. X'll be willing to oblige, too. If there's one thing I don't need it's the Colonel getting on my case about sisterly neglect."

Iris inclined her head and thanked him with all her heart; she didn't need her brother getting on her case either.

*************

And so it happened that Iris began to undertake the rather dubious honor of spotting for the 0 Unit--and by dubious it is meant that, from the very start, the missions she was assigned to were of the worst sort. 

Her first assignment was sheer horror. Zero had requested her assistance in what turned out to be an extremely gruesome case, a scenario in which reploids had the very life essence snatched out of them, leaving their eyes and faces blank masks that burned into her soul and appeared underneath her eyelids as she drifted off into mechanical stasis for days afterwards. Empty. Just empty. For some reason that just terrified Iris, emptiness; she was thankful beyond words that X and Zero managed to destroy the menace that had snatched away such life. And she was thankful that no other mission was half as bad as the Soul Erasers was.

During this time Iris made herself more at home with the other Hunters, and she befriended quite a few of them; however, she spent most of her time with Zero and X, especially the former. She followed him just about everywhere during her spare time: she watched him train (even if he could be rather vicious with the battle robots at times), she helped him polish his armor or work on damaged equipment, and sometimes she just talked or looked quietly at him. There were many reasons for this course of events. Iris felt secure in Zero's presence, for one thing, as many of the other reploids at Maverick Hunter H.Q. still intimidated her greatly--in Zero's care, they would not condescend or speak harshly to her. Also, Iris had no other places to go in her free time, so why not spend it with Zero and X? And the last question brings up another reason, which was that Iris had grown speedily fond of Zero. She couldn't help but like him. The Hunter was courageous to a fault, confident, and, despite his reputation as serious and distant, he treated her warmly, as he did all close friends. He seemed ready to accept her, and that made Iris overjoyed.

Zero was content at first to have the extra baggage around, but DAY after DAY after DAY of his spotter trotting at his heels like a puppy-dog ("Zero's little puppy" was what some voices snickered behind his back), he became exasperated, and Iris was blissfully unaware of it.

One day, the crimson hunter couldn't stand the quiet but unshakable presence that trailed him any longer. He and X were leaving the conference room after a meeting with Dr. Cain and, as usual, Iris was outside the door ready to receive them with a smile. X greeted her kindly, as was his wont; Zero grunted and nodded. But she still didn't take the hint and followed. Zero snapped like a twig.

"Oh, _god dammit!!"_ he exploded, whirling on her, green eyes glinting fiercely in a freak of impatience. "Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around all the time?! Go home, Iris! Why do you persist in hounding me when I have nothing to say to you? Find someone else to pester for a change!"

Iris stepped back a pace and put a hand up to her lips to make sure they didn't quiver. Every circuit inside her head was sending the pulse to bring out tears, but she fought the urge well enough that her eyes merely watered. She spoke, trying to quench the catch in her voice.

"I am sorry. I didn't know I was bothering you. I am sorry. I'll leave you alone, now." And she did just that, turned slowly on her heel and walked away, gleaning a spot of pride through the agony inside herself that she wasn't running like a rabbit.

X turned to his best friend and said the only thing that he could truthfully say, for the blue reploid liked Iris. "Zero, you are _such _an ass."

Zero only scowled.

*************

Iris lay on her bed, staring up at her ceiling with an expression that was completely blank save for her eyes, which were calm but distraught into a near black hue. How she had managed to get past her brother's inquisition at suppertime with a straight face was beyond her powers of explanation, but here she was, free to mope at last. Everything was in ruins--they didn't want her around. _He _didn't want her around. And without him, working with the Hunters was sheer boredom tinged with the terror of being sneered at. She didn't want to be liked by everyone, she merely just wanted to be left alone to her own devices and desires...

She was naive. Iris was intelligent enough to realize that, and it didn't bother her to be such. She was also soft-hearted, too much so. And she was gutless. These things alone did not distress her: it was the fact that they got on other people's nerve that killed her. It was seeing the shadow of her creator in every sneer and taunt given when she annoyed someone. But it appeared that she couldn't stop annoying the people she was fond of unless she locked herself away for good, and her brother wouldn't let her _do_ that! Maybe it was time to get a new personality chip--couldn't those clever scientists make that possible? Or perhaps she should resign? Maybe, if she tried very hard, she could simply disappear from existence altogether. Iris closed her eyes and shuddered out a sigh. The hell with it.

There was a tapping at the door. She lifted herself up and looked in amazement at the entrance for a space, then wiped her face. If it was her brother, his timing was the worst there was.

She silently swung open the door; she promptly stifled a squealing gasp. Zero stood there, face and eyes cloudy--how in all that was holy he had managed to sneak up to her room without her watchdog brother noticing...

Devoid of thought, Iris motioned for the Hunter to come into her room, and he shuffled in, uttering no word. She closed the door. The green eyes focused on her with almost unbearable intensity.

"I am sorry," Zero said. His face looked drawn and weary. The smallest hint of a smile flickered on Iris's lips, and she nodded. 

"Thank you," she said. "Would you like to stay for a little while? That is, if you don't have anything to do, or you're too tired...it _is _late, after all, and I was about to go to bed myself before--"

"I don't need to be anywhere. I don't sleep often. Don't like to. I get headaches." His face flinched very slightly at the last remark; Iris did not see it fit to delve any further into the matter. But she could see the traces of fatigue and sleeplessness in his eyes: it bothered her to no little extent.

"Perhaps I can help. Here. I know you're not the most keen on physical contact, but let's see if this works," Iris offered as she raised up her hands, placing her fingers lightly on Zero's temples. The crimson reploid looked a bit confused, but made no move to resist, so she began to lightly massage the sensitive circuit points. The green eyes faltered, blinked, and drifted shut, his breathing, which had been held in and wary at first, grew regular and deep. Iris looked closely. Had he actually fallen asleep while standing up? 

When she had ascertained that, yes, Zero _had _been smitten by the Sandman, Iris very carefully lowered him to the floor. He was too heavy for her to drag all the way up into her bed; besides, he probably wouldn't appreciate it when he awoke. Crossing her legs, Iris lifted Zero's head and cradled it in her lap. His expression never changed as she continued to massage his temples. As long as she did that, she was sure he would rest easy.

A laugh almost escaped her lips. If her brother should come in, he'd kill her. No, she amended, he'd kill Zero and chide her for being so easily led on--Colonel could be quite silly when it came to these matters, being woefully inexperienced. _He _never had a smitten reploid pegasus fancy _him, _so even her past embarrassments made her more of an expert than he was.

Iris looked down at Zero. Her stomach felt soft, like it was made of jelly; her face went pale and her eyes sparkled. She had always been taken with him. He was similar to her brother in very many respects--they both had a sort of inherent nobility that clung to them like an aura, an energy that gave them authority and the power to command. But Zero was not her brother; he had an air of danger that Iris found dashing. She had not seen his like before. Yet it was none of these things that touched her that night. It was because he had hurt her and apologized for it--nobody had ever done so much for her, and it struck Iris to the quick of her being. Because Zero had done that, Iris was consumed with a strange, needy emotion she had never felt before.

Reploids do not reproduce; they are created. Therefore, romantic "love," in the purest sense of the word, is unnecessary, and most reploids lack the emotion, for it is not programmed in, nor do they discover it. But Zero had struck a chord in Iris that night, and, so starved for any sort of affection was she, all the love that nobody but her brother ever seemed to have wanted was focused on _him. _And it manifested itself as the heedless, consuming, almost obsessive emotion that was only to bring them both sorrow in the end. Iris didn't care, nor was she ever to know. How could she? All she knew was that Zero was half her world. She adored him.

Feeling uncharacteristically courageous, Iris leaned over and touched his face. He made no move. Now even bolder, she kissed him quickly on the temple, her face burning. Zero still did not stir. She sighed happily; it was best he did not know now. She resolved never to tell him how she felt...it might distress him. He might not want it. No, better not to tell anyone. It'd be her very own.

She linked her hand with Zero's own, and she watched over him while he slept well for the first time in a very long while.

_The author here. Regarding the story, I have only two things to say. Iris, you poor sot. And: once again, this is not my best writing. Sorry. I suck at romance, even stilted, crazy romance like Iris's._

But I mainly want to say that I am finally back in business with this story. I know it's been a very long time since I posted up the last chapter. While there are many reasons for the delay--laziness being one--my main tie-up has been due to the fact that I was busy with ANOTHER fic while trying to work on this one at the same time. But now the other fic, a huge honky, has been completed, and my will to write has been restored after a long break. So I am back. Weep for your sanity.

--Themis


	6. Peace is Not an Option

CHAPTER SIX: PEACE IS NOT AN OPTION

Flight, usually such an enjoyable experience, Spiral discovered to his chagrin, was not all it was cracked up to be--especially when you were balancing several bags and packages along with one considerably heavy yet sweet-tempered reploid. "Consarn it, woman, how many brand new shiny things do you _need?_"

Iris laughed impishly: "What? These aren't _all _for me--"

"Yeah, you bought a pair of nail clippers for your brother. Your generosity knows no bounds."

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted: They aren't all for me, and besides, I deserved a splurge."

"Oh, _did _you?"

"Yes! I have been working very hard for a long time, and I think I deserved a splurge."

Indeed, Iris thought idly as she focused her eyes past a strand of her brown hair snapping in the upper winds, she had been working hard. Being promoted to being Zero's 'personal' spotter had its obvious advantages, but he was called on missions just about every other day, which meant hours of sitting at a computer console, a headset glues to her ear, straining to monitor his vital signs and relay information to him and cringing at every blast she heard in the background. None of the missions were serious and he always managed to emerge relatively unharmed, yet she worried. It was not that she didn't think Zero competent enough to win his small battles; she disliked seeing anyone or anything in pain, even if they were accustomed and numb to it. Blood made her feel sick, and it was a bloody business. That was just the way she was. 

"So," Spiral commented, "what're you thinking?"

"About someone."

Spiral's muzzle turned down in a scowl, customary when this subject was breached. "It better not be about that crimson butt-pimple. "

"Please don't call him that," Iris said slowly, annoyance rigging a defense around her eyes.

"See, see? There you go again, defending that fiend like you're his mommy. Why can't you ever mother someone worthy?"

"Like you?" came the rather arch reply.

"EXACTLY!"

"No."

"Shoot. But you know, Iris," here his voice became grave, "please don't get into water that's too hot for you. Zero's not exactly the candy-and-hearts type of guy. He's not like you."

Iris opened her mouth to protest, but Spiral would not give her such a luxury.

"Be careful, that's all I'm saying. Someone's going to get hurt if things get out of control. Hell, there're rumors already--"

A blush crept across her cheeks as she flinched at this. She knew of the rumors, the nickname. She shied away from specifics, but Iris knew that they were floating around out there, some innocent, some vicious, almost all of them false. Zero did come to her and her brother's house more often as of late, but only because the Colonel and Zero had more free time in which to practice and spar with each other. Never since that night did the Hunter and his spotter spend any long otiose moments together unaccompanied. Zero assumed an air of distant friendliness around her.

But occasionally--! Occasionally he would send her a flash of affection in a seeming idle glance, his green eyes twinkling. And he had given her small gifts, things she had spied in the MMHQ store and expressed interest in but could not buy since her brother had little patience for their money being spent on trivia; she found them placed at her workstation when she arrived at work. Trinkets friendly, inexpensive, and anonymous, but she knew who gave them. Only two Hunters cared enough to buy her gifts, and X didn't have that guilty look in his face when she got a new gift.

Of course Zero was not like her, as Spiral pointed out, but nobody was like her. She was Iris Thorne and he was Zero. Why focus on the differences? Similarities were stronger, and they shared their work, Colonel, and loneliness.

"I don't care. What are rumors to you, anyway? Hmm? If I remember correctly, you've authored a few stories yourself," she mulled aloud, tapping Spiral's muzzle with an accusing finger.

"Lies! All lies! You should know--"

What Iris was supposed to have known was drowned out in the fury of a terrific sonic boom, jerking their flight to a halt. Iris looked ahead and saw nothing that could have made such a terrible din--which was still continuing, rumbling low without end--but her chauffeur looked up. His eyes widened. His muzzle fell slack. And his horsey scream was terrible, screaming like he was being butchered alive, mixing with the wind as he began a dive at a wicked angle. He pressed sharply on her neck, forcing her tight to his chest, and she could see nothing, feel nothing but the icy bite around her, the salt of sweat trickling inside her mouth and stinging her tongue.

An abrupt, jarring halt. Pain registered in her wiry nerves, aching all over. Iris opened her eyes to witness Spiral kneeling over her, wings outstretched, a feathery shield. His armor was battered and his teeth were tinged red.

Screaming. Everything was screaming around her. The people screamed, the wind screamed, fiery comets of debris screamed. Spiral continued to scream as his wings were battered. One giant scream, and there was a dull, loud roar behind it.

_Make it stop oh make it stop Zero Brother Daddy make it stop! _

A large chunk of rock slammed right into Spiral's ribs, hurling him over to the side-- Iris had lost her blanket.

"Sonofabitch!" Spiral cursed frantically, struggling so hard to get back on his feet over to her, fingers grasping at his crumpled side, blood pooling below him.

"What happened? What's going on?" Iris murmured in the false calm of extreme shock. Her eyes looked to a sky that was literally falling on their heads. _I didn't know the sky was made of metal_ she thought dumbly.

"They Sky Lagoon just…blew up," Spiral panted. "It fell. The main body crashed right into downtown."

A shower of gravel nicked Iris's cheek, but she felt no pain. Another welter of destruction was heard in the distance, growing, echoing louder and louder. She turned her eyes and saw a gargantuan reploid dragon, its almost comical face gaping with jagged teeth. A Maverick. She knew it had to be.

The Maverick dragon, armed with a thrashing tail and talons that pulsed electricity, advanced towards them, and it devastated any hapless bodies and buildings within its path. Iris could do nothing but watch it come.

It spied the thrashing reploid Pegasus near its feet and gave him a sharp kick, sending him far away, out of sight. Iris cried out, expecting the end to be near, but her voice did not come. Not detecting any movement, the Maverick saw no more horrible pleasure was to be had and it stepped right over the small female, the underside of its tail brushing so close to her face that Iris could see the little ridged scales underneath. The world at her peripheral vision blurred in and out of focus; then it faded completely.

*************

Quickly Iris recovered from her brief faint; her internal clock decreed that she hadn't blanked out for more than a couple of minutes. Somehow, wracked with pain and superficial burns and bruises as she was, she jerked over onto her stomach, arms in front of her. From her vantage point she could discern the mammoth shadow of the Maverick amidst the greasy smoke and steam.

Iris did not want to die in this place--or perhaps she was already dead. Maybe she was in Hell. What she had done to deserve such a fate?

"Don't leave me here!" she began to scream, too frightened to even shed tears. "I don't want to stay! Anyone, someone, help me!"

Whoever said that prayers were never answered would have not believed what occurred next: it was nothing short of a miracle. 

A presence suddenly came up from behind Iris, drawn by her cries. She wearily turned her head, eyes dull; she did not hope for an escape. She stiffened and almost fainted again. There stood Zero, looking like Mercy incarnate, his face drawn as he squinted through the haze. She called his name, and this time he recognized her voice.

"Iris!" he bellowed, rushing up to her, kneeling very close and placing a hand on her bangs. "What are you doing here?"

The poor girl was so stunned that she asked the most ridiculous question ever. "Zero, have you come to help me?"

Luckily, he did not mock her, as the situation didn't call for levity. "Yes. But what happened here?"

"Spiral and I were shopping in the city and we were flying home when he suddenly fell out of the sky and the city started burning and then this Maverick came and--" She was babbling like a child, but she didn't care.

Zero murmured soft reassurances to her: "Shhh, it's all right, Iris, it's all right. I'll take care of this. Don't worry." His big hand stroked her hair roughly, almost jerking it out by the roots; he obviously did not have much experience in calming hysterical females. But his touch was the sweetest thing in the world to Iris.

"How did this happen?" she whimpered.

"The Sky Lagoon fell, Iris."

"Why?"

" I don't know. I'm going to find out. But I'm going to destroy that Maverick and take you to the HQ now. Wait here. I'll be right back."

"Did you see Spiral? I think he's hurt."

"Already sent him on his merry way for repairs. I _must _go."

"No!" She flailed her arms, reaching for him. "Don't leave me alone!" 

But he had left.

**************

When Zero returned a quarter-hour later, his armor bloodier than before, his face was a stormy mask. His glittering green irises seemed to want to jump out of the sclera. Iris recognized that look; it meant dire consequences and promised death. A terrible thing had happened, that much she was certain.

"Zero! Wh--"

Those dragon-eyes alighted on her; the words died in Iris's throat. He spoke in a brusque voice. "Come on. I'm getting you out of here. Can you walk?"

"I think so." 

Stiffly, and with a little assistance from Zero, Iris was indeed up on her feet again, albeit not without some pain. She looked up at the strained face, her trust complete as a dog's.

"Where are we going?"

He chewed on his bottom lip in deliberation before answering: "I--I think that it's best if you came to MMHQ. Things aren't too secure in Neo Tokyo it looks like; you'll be safe there."

"Zero, what's going on?"

"A Maverick attack."

"Oh, no! How--"

"Iris, _please _stop asking so many questions while we're sitting out here just asking for Mavericks to shoot at us! We need to get out of here now!" Zero jerked her arm, but she managed to hold back.

"Can't I go back to my house and get a few things?"

"All right!" He flung his hands into the air. "Go on. But you'd better be back in the main computer room in thirty minutes."

Suddenly Zero fell onto his knees, clutching his battered helmet with one hand while slamming his free fist in the concrete, spouting off a terrific litany of curses, some in different languages. Iris had heard of him doing this before, but never seen it, not when she had been his spotter. It scared her. She pressed in the code to teleport away to her and her brother's house, and she was gone.

*************

Everything needed and wanted had been gathered, all stuffed into a good-sized duffel bag. Iris passed by the house's videophone as she was making one last sweep of the halls--how empty and silent they were! She paused, regarding the system. Perhaps she could contact her brother, or Spiral, or, at least, someone who would tell her what was happening; she didn't think that there were going to be very many free secure communications channels at Hunter HQ. What could it hurt? Dainty pale-jointed fingers pressed buttons. Spiral would be the best to contact at the moment, she decided, he wouldn't scold or efface like her brother would.

"What is it?" Spiral's voice snapped following a few beeps. Iris could feel the sneer on his face.

"That's not a very nice way of greeting me."

"Oy! Iris! I'm sorry; I didn't know it was you, sugar pop! Where in the hell _are _you? Are you all right?"

"I'm at home now. I'm fine. Zero saved me."--A scoff on the other end-- "But what about you?"

"Well, I'm currently in the Medical Unit, and they're working on my wings as we speak. You kinda caught me at a bad time."

"Sorry. But listen, Spiral, I have something important to ask you. Nobody else will be straight with me. I think that a horrible thing has just happened. I know it's a Maverick attack and such, but--but--it's worse than that. I can feel it."

"Excuse me a moment," Spiral said. Iris could make out the sounds of him snapping at a team of unfortunate medics, telling them in quite colorful language to kiss off before he resumed their conversation. "Pardon that, but I had to get some privacy. This is a tender subject, Iris."

"Go ahead," she prompted. 

Spiral mumbled a phrase or two very quickly; Iris would not be put off. "Make it understandable, please."

"Aw, hell! If you want me to break your heart, then fine! Iris, word's been going around that the Hunters have insulted the Repliforce's honor once too often. You know that blonde plaything of yours? He, being Mr. Congeniality, practically labeled us all as Mavericks. US! The Repliforce! And now all of the Hunters are _agreeing _with him! The shit's really hit the fan now, my girl!"

The hand that rested on the number pad started to shake uncontrollably. It was too horrible to assimilate into Iris's brain. All she could muster was a dry "why?" past the ice lining her throat.

"I don't know the exact details, but it happened during that lovely attack we both were in. The Colonel came to the site where the Sky Lagoon crashed--looking for you--when he met Zero. Zero accused him of being Maverick! And when your brother wouldn't allow himself to be dishonored by tamely following the person who just fingered him and throw down his sword, he returned to us. The General is in a conference right now with all the other Repliforce leaders, my boss Storm included. I don't know what's going on in there, but it ain't gonna be pretty. Colonel's not here, though. Can't say where. It's not like him to miss out on heavy matters like this."

"Oh God," Iris murmured, "oh God."

"It's bad, isn't it sweetie?" the question came across in a sigh.

"Spiral," she managed to blurt out, "if they start fighting, are you going to be involved?"

"Yeah."

"No, no, NO! Spiral! If you fight that only makes them think you really _are _Mavericks!"

"My dear, I could care less about what others think of _me _personally. If I were in the Colonel's place I'd have gone with Zero (no way in hell he'd get me to drop my weapon, though). But I don't make the big decisions. All my friends and loyalties are here. I don't have any place to go; I don't sit well with the Hunters like you do. And if Storm Owl leads me out into the fray, I'll follow, no questions asked."

Silence hung heavy for a few seconds, Iris trembling and shaking her head. 

"But what are _you _going to do, Iris?" Spiral's voice was soft.

"I--I--I guess I'll go with the Hunters. Zero's expecting me there. I'm just home to get a few things."

"You do that then." The words were curt, sharp, and disappointed. "Watch them kill your own brother. Look, I have to go. Bye."

The transmission ended before she could say farewell; she slid down the wall and curled her arms around her knees, taking in deep breaths. If she didn't find some way of release, she was sure her nerves would shatter.

Blankly she leaned against the all, seeing nothing nor caring about anything else except trying to make some sense of all that had happened. Where had it gone wrong? All she had wanted to do was shop.

Whiteness suddenly filled her vision, whiteness contrasting with military black and red fringes; Iris looked up right into the dark eyes of her brother, who was leaning over her, one hand curled around her shoulders. He looked tired and old. But that didn't matter. She uttered a sound halfway between and whimper and a shriek, throwing her arms around his bulk, nuzzling his ear for comfort.

Then she shoved him back roughly so that there was enough space for her to rush him and start pounding feebly on his chest. It was killing her hands, but the pain was lost in her mental chaos.

"You, you, you--!" she sobbed. "You…_great idiot! _Why didn't you go with him? You could have cleared it up if you had wanted to, but you couldn't because of your damned pride! How could you? Does peace mean so little to you? Do _I _mean so little to you? You're going to make me go crazy!"

Colonel's face remained impassive except for the clenching and relaxing of his jaw. He listened to her ramble on for a space more before his patience snapped.

"Sister! Enough of these hysterics! Calm _down!" _

Iris did as she was told; she rested her head against his chest in a plea for a cease-fire, which he appeared to accept when he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close. 

"How did you find me?" she asked softly. Colonel gave a wry chuckle.

"I know you better than you think I do. You always have to come and gather a few trinkets when you know you're going to be gone for any length of time. You weren't with the Repliforce, so this was the only other place I thought you would be."

"May I ask what you're doing here?"

His shoulders tightened slightly, a sign that he was extremely uncomfortable. "I wanted to see if you were all right. Zero told me that you were fine, but I wanted to see for myself. At least he has the honor not to lie to me."

Iris broke out of his embrace and stared up hard at him, putting every ounce of her earnestness into her gaze. "Brother, this is all just a misunderstanding. It's not too late to set things to rights. Call a conference between the Repliforce and the Hunters. You can meet on equal terms, so that no one will have to throw down their weapons. Discuss the situation before fighting breaks out! Show them that you're not Mavericks!"

"It is the General's decision, not mine, Iris."

"But he listens to you. Look. Go back to that council they're having and speak to them--"

A noise, like the whipping of a swarm of bird wings, made her pause; it was an unnatural sound. Iris looked up at her brother and saw his head bowed, eyes focused on his hands, deep in thought. She knew he was oblivious to the world when he was thinking so hard, so she went over to a window.

People were dashing about outside, most of them yelling out words indistinguishable through the glass. Their faces looked angry, a wild, crazed anger, anger you see on men when they sense they have been wronged but can't get even.

Hazarding a last look at Colonel, Iris went downstairs and, hand hesitating, timidly opened the door to peek out. Nothing bad occurred, so, bolder, she went out onto the porch.

A woman scurrying past on the sidewalk saw her and shouted out: "It's all your fault that this happened! The creations of Dr. Thorne himself, causing riots! He'd die of shame to see you now, you and your human-killing brother!"

"Don't you say that about my brother!" Iris screeched back, red flush across her cheeks, fists balled. All her shy and retiring ways collapsed inside her, leaving only her flustered, burning mind in control.

The woman screamed something in return, but Iris paid her no heed; she was more intimidated by the ever-increasing audience that was gathering in the front yard. The bolder men were yelling at her, too, spitting on the lawn, and then everybody was yelling.

"Mavericks!"

"The scrap heap's too good for your kind!"

"Get out of the neighborhood!"

"Go away!" Iris yelled, shaking now, nearly bursting into tears. "Leave us alone! I've done nothing to you!"

But the shouting continued. Someone threw a rock at the house, intending to hit her but veering off and crashing into a window instead. They started to reach for the fence, prying out the timber.

She covered her face, peeping out through her fingers; she so desperately wanted and needed to get back inside, but her legs had gone totally numb with fright. No one had ever directly threatened her safety before and it was mind-blowing.

A glass beer bottle, filled and uncapped, hurtled towards her head. Iris had been told how much being hit by one of those wicked missiles hurt. Fortunately for her, though, a large hand caught it with an urgent grace before it made contact. From the shadow cast over her and the warm aura behind, Iris knew that her brother was with her now, standing strong and tall. The bottle was set down carefully on the porch and the hand took he by the shoulder, pulling her close. The noise ceased when those imperious eyes swept over all the occupants of the lawn.

Colonel's lips turned in a scornful smile, and he looked down on them all with all the contempt he had in his proud soul. His saber was ignited and blazing, coolly held at the ready. Then he began to laugh, and it wasn't the dry, low sound that Iris knew; it raked across the face like a sting.

"To think I should be afraid of _your _kind! Look at you. Breaking out the windows of my own house, destroying my own property, terrorizing a defenseless child, but when the very man you want comes out, all you can do is gawk at me like I'm a stranger to you? Are you so afraid of me, cowards, that you will not face me on the field of battle but try to attack me and mine in our home? So like you humans! You have no honor. You never did. I was entertaining thoughts of begging the General to take no action against you and your precious Hunters, but now. . .now I realize that I was being foolish. 

"But I cannot destroy you, nor do I wish to. I will have nothing to do with you--no decent reploid should. We serve your every whim, do all the jobs that you find repulsive, obey you, and what do you give us in return? God, my sister and I couldn't even live in our creator's house when he died because we weren't _natural _kin!

"That's not the saddest thing I see about you. Our creators deliberately give us sentience, the ability to make our own decisions, but when we _act _on the abilities that you gave us, you go insane and try to destroy us. Why is that? I'd wager that you don't know the answers yourselves. God! You don't even understand why you act the way you do. You never try to search, ask, or seek change because it _suits _you, doesn't it? Now tell me: do you humans honestly think that I and my brethren would _willingly _languish under the control of such a mindless race forever?"

Oh, but you needn't worry about reploids overthrowing you. Whatever you are, you _are _our creators. Besides, you have nothing we want. Freedom is our goal, and we shall attain it at _any cost. _Leave us be, and no harm will come to you. But send your damned Hunters if you so wish! It will be the worse for you! And then you'll know the people that you have so wrongfully accused. Now leave, and fight me on the field like true warriors!"

The adhesive hostility that bound the crowd mentality began to disappear, but didn't quite break; most of the people shuffled back a foot or two, casting nervous and shocked glances at one another. Colonel's brow furrowed thunderously.

"GET OUT!"

At last the lawn was vacated as the people turned and began to run with fear and, so they thought, possibly for their very lives. Iris watched them go in silence. Next she realized that her brother was staring down hard at her; she looked back up and met his gaze without flinching. Unspoken words passed between brother and sister. Colonel's eyes shaded an even darker black, the faintest glimmer of hurt, and he nodded once. He went back into the house, returning a minute later with her duffle bag, thrusting it into her hand without ceremony. Iris did not look at him this time. But she knew when he had left her standing alone on the porch steps, the light humming of his teleportation touching her ear softly.

And as Iris gazed off into the smoky, rumbling but empty distance, addled mind trying to figure out many things that she did not know, she could not help to think that she had been somehow cruelly deceived.


	7. The Glass Shatters

_Ending Notes: At long last, this baby is finally completed. I said I'd finish it one day! WHY DIDN'T YOU ALL BELIEVE ME?_

_                Now, this final chapter will be a bit short because it takes place within the events of the game, and I really see no reason to repeat what most people who have played the games know. I tried the opposite in another story and people said that recounting the game's events disrupted the story; this is to see if that claim is really true._

_                Also be warned that this last chapter is really angsty and cheeseilicious, an apologia for Iris's existence almost. But hell, the poor girl has gotten so much flack over the years; I couldn't help but strive to get sympathy for her in this. And in the end her story is really a sad one. YOU watch the two persons you love most in the world fight against each other and see how YOU like it, sucker! _

_                Finally, I do admit that I have taken a few liberties with the original storyline, especially with the small (yet important!) role X has in this fanfic. X4's separate storylines are very hard to incorporate, and I felt they could have been handled a little better in the game. I mean, what was Zero doing while you played as X, sitting in the back room with a stogie and a Playboy? And it goes both ways. I find it a bit hard to digest that Zero would be close friends with the Colonel and X never even hear of the guy until the Sky Lagoon incident. Besides, I love X to death—I love his earnestness and kindness, things Zero doesn't have much of—and I wanted to include him in the story._

_                Much love and thanks for your patience!_

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE GLASS SHATTERS

                Of the seven deadly sins, Iris thought, the deadliest of them all was pride. If it weren't for pride, people would not blind themselves and act irrationally; and from irrationality sprung all other vices. Of that she was now certain.

                If it weren't for pride, this rebellion wouldn't have started at all.

                Iris's cheeks colored as she recalled all of the past few weeks' occurrences, all of the anxiety, the hurt, the guilt, and the blood. She could hardly bear it: as Zero's spotter, she was indirectly responsible for the deaths of Repliforce members, members she knew, members she had been friends with! She was not so naïve that she didn't know that war and battle was fraught with horrors and anguish, but never thought it would have been like this. 

                 When it came to the matter of the Colonel, even the sweet, passive Iris could only bend so far. It had embarrassed and shamed her to no end, but she had wept, begged, cried for Zero not to engage her brother in combat (what would _he _had thought if he had seen her then?). She hounded him to try for a peaceful solution, and she had a little success--she _did _manage to break up the potentially fatal duel between Zero and the Colonel, after all.

                Still, her pleas had gone mostly unheard. A sharp word, a clench of the fist, and Zero went off, quick smart, to destroy old friends and acquaintances. She humiliated herself in the eyes of her family in vain for him, practically falling down on her knees and groveling before him. She often thought, with as much bitterness as she knew she possessed, why she even bothered to press her case at all. But she would not stop trying, even in the face of futility.

                It was X who finally provided comfort and understanding. When the eighth and last Repliforce stronghold fell, the Maverick Hunter upper echelons formulated a plan for a strike on the Air Base, the Repliforce's seemingly last stand; however, there were rumors of a final base in outer space, and the objective was to effectively cripple the Repliforce before that rumor was confirmed. No gambles were to be made. Iris had watched the throngs of orderlies, soldiers, and other battle personnel scurrying around and preparing for the alert, looking at them all with a dazed eye as she stood with her back pressed firmly against the wall. She felt very small, very weary, and very sad at that moment, but she could not bring herself to tear her eyes away. And then out of nowhere X suddenly came towards her and stood in front of her; his demeanor kind and pleasant. Gently ushering her out of the busy hallway to her temporary quarters, he did not speak much until the door had shut behind them. He asked about her, how she was holding up, and the conversation inevitably turned towards the mission at hand--in particular, the fates of the Colonel, Spiral, and other ranking officers of the Repliforce that had not been killed.

                "Please, X," she said softly, clasping his hands in hers, "don't kill them if you meet them! They don't deserve to die."

                "Nobody does," the blue reploid sighed, not drawing away. 

                "I'm sure that they'll listen to reason. I know that Spiral doesn't have his whole heart in this rebellion. He'll surrender peacefully. My brother"--here her eyes lowered and she sucked on her bottom lip-- "may be more of a problem. But if you _must _fight him, knock him out, don't destroy him."

                "I'll try my best."

                "And if you see Zero--"

                X snorted, and a hard look came into his eyes. "Zero never listens to me. He actually obeys you more. I can't guarantee that he'll spare the Colonel if it comes to a duel."

                "No! He can't! They were _friends! _Friends don't kill each other! They just don't!" She jerked back and slapped feebly at X's chest, panic overtaking her in such a frenzy that she nearly throttled him. "Please don't let my brother die!"

                X groaned and pulled her into a tight embrace--partially to immobilize her arms so that she would stop beating him. "Iris, you know that I'll do everything in my power to prevent the Colonel's death. But I know that if push comes to shove, Zero won't hesitate to eliminate him if he's beyond recall. Still, I promise that if I come across Colonel first, I won't kill him if I can avoid it. I promise."

                "Thank you," she said in a shaking voice, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. "At least you're not trying to kill your best friend. Doesn't he even care? He's not even sorry!" Her voice grew more and bitterer with every word, and her shoulders hunched over. "Not sorry at all! They're both heartless!" 

                It was X who gave her what scanty comfort could be offered. "Oh, they're sorry," he said softly. "They are very sorry. No decent person wants these things to happen, Iris. But they do happen, and saying 'sorry' out loud doesn't change anything. Still, they _do _care, Iris. And, for what it's worth, so do I."

                A wan smile flitted across her mouth, and she hugged him again. "Thank you. You're the best friend, X."

                "Try telling Zero that." A klaxon blared. "I have to go now. I'll remember my promise." He started to walk away, but then turned and gave her one last bit of comfort, lie though it was.

                "Everything's going to be all right."

                X left her then--everybody had left her now, Iris felt—and she rushed over to her bedside, tore open her violin case, and crushed it under her heavy foot. She couldn't even shed a tear.

                "I was never any good at it anyway!"

*************

                 Slipping into the HQ's airbike garage had proved an easy matter: all but the most essential personnel were on full alert, their attentions diverted elsewhere, and such a minor place was definitely not at the top of the high priority list. Only one reploid watched over the garage, and Iris quickly managed to convince him to loan her out a bike, protesting that as a spotter for the Hunters she needed to check on the damage outside and report it. It was probably more her innocuous air and sweet face than her actual argument that got the job done, but beggars couldn't be choosers. All that mattered to her was that she was on her way to the airbase. She prayed to everything she could think of—to all gods that the humans had ever made up, to Chance, to Fate, to whatever entity who was in charge of these things—that she might arrive in time to stop Zero and her brother, to make final peace. She could not bear it otherwise. Living without either of them terrified her. They both meant life. Speed! Speed was of the essence!

When she arrived at the broken front gates of the airbase, Iris shrieked her airbike to a dead halt, the scene swimming in a smoky haze before her wavering vision.  Her breathing ragged--why couldn't she stop gasping, and why did her heart pump so painfully erratically?--she dismounted on quavering knees. Faint roars sounded from the straggling remnants of the Repliforce fleet that had yet to leave for space, buzzing in her head at a maddening frequency, screaming in every crevasse of her skull. 

                "Brother? Brother? Brother!!"

                She ran, calling, her voice small and shrill and frantic. Soon she was screaming the Colonel's name, screaming to keep from sobbing. She could not bring herself to think of Zero; a horrible feeling in her deepest parts told her that her brother was in much more peril than she could ever imagine.

                Dull pieces of scrap hitherto unnoticed caught Iris's attention when they came into contact with her feet, sending her splaying over very ungracefully onto her face. Rubbing at her offended forehead, she looked down at the parts: wires, pieces of jagged metal, decals.

                The hilt of a saber.

                Blue eyes closed tight like a baby's. She didn't want to look, to see, to even think about what she knew to be the truth. It could not be! How could it be? It was not right . . .

                Yet she looked again, slowly raising herself to her knees, neck swiveling almost apathetically around; her eyes found new pieces of scrap, all painted a familiar scheme of white, red, and black. A hand here, a piece of his leg there. No face. Iris reached out and, absently at first, began to pick up the shards. Then she grew more and more frantic, silent tears wetting her ashen cheeks. The smaller pieces sifted through her weak fingers, and she clutched at them in vain. There were simply too many parts to gather.

                As Iris cradled the shattered limbs of her brother close, something in her mind snapped. She began to scream, louder and louder, screamed until her voice was raw. 

                And, for the very first time in her life, she began to have truly violent thoughts. 

                Oh, yes, sometimes, when her creator had been alive, her thoughts had had a bitter tinge, resentful even, but Dr. Thorne was her creator. You didn't hate your creator or your family; they were the only ones you could ever have. But when someone _close _to you, to whom you had given nothing but love, respect, and obedience--when a person like that came along and murdered your kin, then you could hate him. 

                Iris shook violently as a wave of nauseous loathing crashed into her gut. Zero had done this, Zero had killed her brother, her brother had undoubtedly put up resistance when Zero came, but Zero never had to _destroy _her brother, no, he didn't, but he _did _because he was cruel and vicious and a monster.

                She hated him. She, sweet little Iris, who would have never hurt a fly! She wanted to hurt him, cut his throat, and spill _his _blood!

                A small strain of music sounded, originating from the throbbing vein underneath her ear, humming straight into her brain. Iris stopped her screaming, face pale and quiet, pupils dilating and constricting in time with the beat as it grew louder and louder. The music revealed itself as a series of ones and zeros, a binary code, and she translated the code as saying: _Go…kill…avenge…honor is at the stake here…fight…the only way!_

"Stop it," she whispered. She stood up, the world blurring around her as if she were whirling around on a top, the musical numbers piercing into every fiber of her being, commanding her forward. Tears spangled her cheeks. If she killed someone, if she avenged her brother's death, then the pain and the sounds would stop, oh God she wanted them to stop! She wanted to feel nothing anymore.

                In the distance she saw the last convoys going towards the single remaining shuttle. Using a speed that she had heretofore never realized she possessed, Iris bolted forth and found herself running along the convoy, a TRAM-like thing that floated slightly over her head, no glass in the windows and no door. She gripped at the empty door-space, fingers encasing the space between the floor and the hull.

                "Please! Please take me with you!"

                "Miss, what the hell are you _doing!?" _a soldier yelled, yanking up her up by her arm. A sea of disciplined, hard stares greeted her arrival.

                "Take me with you," she said in a monotone, glazed eyes burning. The soldier who had pulled her up made a sound of protest, but one of the passengers in the back spoke.

                "Come on, what harm could it do? Don't you know who this is? This is the Colonel's sister. She's a part of this as any. Let her come."

                Iris nodded her thanks, and then she sat down, letting herself be taken to the ship, the source codes still humming in her brain.

*************

Iris did not speak to any of the soldiers while they journeyed to the Repliforce's bastion, the Final Weapon, no matter how kindly they regarded her. She didn't want to be looked at. That which was not the source code singing through her veins meant nothing.

But then something a solider was saying gave her pause and managed to grab her black attention. "Now, when we arrive, we all need to each take one Mech crystal and get inside a machine as quickly as possible. They'll probably need all the defense they can get, with both X and Zero up there. Hook up to your links and go where you're told on the double."

"I'll take one too," she spoke up.

The speaker flinched his head back a bit, blinking his eyes. "You? But ma'am, you hardly look like a combat unit…"

"I will manage. I will have one, sir. I know how to pilot a Mech."

                Conversation effectively ended, the soldier, a bit frightened of her blank face and eyes, gave her a crystal without hesitation once they landed at the Final Weapon. It was a multifaceted power core, deep purple and shivering with great destructive capacity. She thought of all the pain such power could inflict, such justice it could dispense; the two had always gone together, fitting perfect as the yin and the yang. For one sweet moment she would truly forget about everything else and do what the source code screamed at her to do, and after that—nothingness, she supposed. It was irrelevant. Vengeance lay in the present moment.

                The other soldiers went their own ways, leaving Iris alone to walk stiffly through the corridors unheeded. Eventually she arrived at a room located not too far from the General's main chambers; with a few select sharp words, identification that she was indeed the late Colonel's sister, and a display of the powerful weapon she carried, the few guards within soon dispersed. She then stood at rigid attention in the center of the room, for there was nothing to do but wait until Zero arrived.

                 At long last, a movement flashed in front of her eyes, snapping her out of the haze induced by the heady pumping in her veins.  She recognized the silhouette in the doorway, and she let out a hissing breath through her bared teeth, curling her fingers greedily around the power crystal as if she were strangling it. She had nothing to say to him, so she remained silent, staring at him with hate-watered eyes. Zero stepped forward, his hand outstretched. His face was tight and drawn.

                "Iris—"

                "So, you fought with my brother. I asked you not to."

                "I'm so sorry, Iris, but there was no other way. You know that I would have never harmed him if I could avoid it."

                "I don't believe a word of that. But it doesn't matter what's true and what's not. Nothing matters anymore. It's all over--"

                "Iris, _listen _to me! Please. I'm very sorry—"

                She lifted up her face to speak to him at last, her blackened irises clouded and glaring, seeming to suck up all her color into their inky-blue depths. Her voice sounded distant and stilted even in her own ears, and even as she spat at him a part of her mind cried out.

                "You dare to apologize to _me_? After what you did, you even _dare? _To Hell with you and your mercy and your 'sorry'! Everybody has said that to me, and it never helps! I'm tired of that word! My brother is dead, and you killed him! SORRY won't undo what you did." The power crystal shimmered and burst into life in her palm, searing the skin, but she felt no pain but instead a sick delight and the thrill of impending battle. Through the glee a soft strain of sorrow made its way through, and for a moment she felt tender towards him—for a moment she felt like her old self, when she was happy and new and carefree and the world, despite its ugliness, had been a nice place.

                "Good bye, Zero."

                And with that, the crystal floated out of her hand and into the air, encasing her body in dreadful mechanized armor, and she leapt at him.

*************

                The ceiling shimmered in and out of focus in Iris's vision, as if a silver mist was creeping over her eyes, the same kind of mist that she used to see on a summer morning just as the sun touched the grass's dew. Everything was quiet, a vacuum. She couldn't even hear the blood pulse in her ears. The only thing she felt was the burning pain deep within her; she had suffered much external scuffing and some burns, essentially superficial, but her insides were shredded, bleeding from within. Iris felt gutted. Her internal computer assessed the damage--her synthetic organs were failing at a rapid rate, and her CPU had been irreparably damaged. She was dying. Each breath became harder and longer to draw, and the silver mists coalesced into a thicker shroud, harder to blink away.

                _I am dying, _she thought to herself. Not much time left. Her eyes shut tightly as the pain began to register more clearly, stifling her cries. She did not want to die, but it hurt so badly.

                She was afraid to die, Iris suddenly realized.

                Blood filled her mouth, and she daintily turned her head to the side and let it drip onto the cracked and burnt floor. Somewhere she heard a voice calling her name, but she continued to look at the blackish pool next to her head. The blood was not natural; was it _real, _though? The question echoed in her increasingly dizzy mind, faint but nagging like an insect bite. A man had made her, but men did not know everything even though they tried to use their science to say otherwise. Did they know what they were creating? Iris wouldn't have minded if the answer was no. But she had no idea; that was the most terrifying thing about death at all, for she was concerned about a soul that may not even have existed.

                "Iris! IRIS!"

                With an effort she managed to turn her eyes to the voice. She struggled to smile as she watched Zero kneel down beside her, cradling the back of her head in his hand, his face strained and eyes filled with a great anguish. _Is he hurting for me?_ The pain made her almost delirious, but she had to speak.

                "Zero," she said, her voice heavy and dreamy, "stay away from the Repliforce--and let's live in a world where only reploids exist…" 

                _Why am I saying this? _She did not know, but the words were mixed and cloudy to her, a dream mixed within a dream. Vestiges of Colonel's programming still remained in her subconscious, she supposed, but she was too weary and in too much pain to think further on it. Thinking was coming harder and harder. All she saw were images, images of her brother and her friends--reploids all.

                "Iris, there is no such place," Zero said, jaw set to keep his teeth from chattering. "It's just a fantasy."

                A wave of pain broke the film of pictures over her eyes and Iris managed to agree with him, knowing the pragmatism of his words. "Yes, I know. But deep down I wanted to believe it." The film closed over and she thought of the times her creator had scolded her like a child, how the humans in both Repliforce and Maverick Hunter HQs spoke slowly to her, never allowed their hands to touch hers when they gave her papers, sliding them across the counter or table surface instead. She had never said a word or even noticed anything wrong with such actions then, but deep down she had always hated it. She hated being called a 'Roid, hated having to lose her old house.

                But there had been good times too. Dr. Thorne's pleased smile when he first looked down on her held the bitter memories at bay. He had been kind to her at first and had still been very decent after she fell from his graces. The quiet family sitting in the living room, exchanging soft glances and secret smiles, the sound of a violin in the background, Zero's dashing green eyes that looked at her with a softness reserved only for her.

                "I only wanted to live in peace," she gasped. "With you." She focused back on his face and reached a hand up to touch him; he grasped it with his own.

                "I'm sorry for all of this," Iris whispered. "I know I didn't know you for very long, but I love you the same."

                A catch sounded in Zero's breath before he spoke: "Don't leave. Hang in there. I'll get you medical attention. I don't want to lose you." His breath felt very close and warm across her face.

                "I guess it doesn't really matter now." She suddenly felt deeply ashamed for all the grief that she had caused to the people most important to her. She had made her creator disappointed; she had failed her brother; she had tried to destroy Zero. She thought of how it could have been different, imagining different reactions and scenarios, anything to take away the shame. She did not want to acknowledge what she did. Even without her brother, there had been Zero; now both of them were lost. But she could not live without her brother.

 Maybe death wouldn't be so bad after all; at least there wouldn't be any more shame and regret in nothingness, if nothingness was what was there for a living machine like herself.

                One last thing to do first. Summoning up all her dying strength, she relayed one last command to her CPU. She felt a tiny white-hot twinge in her mid back as her main chip started to melt and fuse. Nothing would salvage it. If her brother could not be revived, then she would not either. 

                A deep, heavy sigh escaped from her failing lungs and the tips of her fingers squeezed Zero's hand. She gave a last little shy smile. Her pulse was faint but it roared in her ears now. The silvery mists swarmed upon her, numbing all the pain and thought. Green eyes flashed once and disappeared. And the last thing she knew was hearing her brother's voice speak to her. She had heard him reading an old book aloud, something by an author from ancient Rome or thereabouts, and he had said: _There is nothing so noble or beautiful in life than immeasurable courage._

                Iris had not been brave in her life; in her death she was much more fortunate.


	8. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

                The roof had suffered a nasty blow from a stray plasma bomb's aftershock, and bits and pieces of slate, steel, and concrete lay scattered all over the table where the two scientists sat, eating their lunch. Battered as the building was, it was one of the few factories up and running in Neo Tokyo, so the work had not been suspended--in fact, it had been doubled.  The men were weary, but they still had enough energy to do what they did best: gossip.

                Gary whistled sharply through his teeth, looking up at the damaged ceiling. "Woo, sure was a nasty one this time! A doozie. I think this's been the worst one so far."

                "Yeah," Dave drawled; he had heard this many times before. Old news. Time to breathe new air into their talk. "Did you know that they released the casualty lists today?"

                "Huh!" Gray grunted. He didn't like the way their gossip was headed; he didn't like to talk about death.

                "Mmm. I saw it. Lots of Repliforce bots, of course. I recognized a few of 'em."

                "I heard that the Colonel was destroyed by that Hunter, Zero," the round scientist ventured. Maybe if he satisfied his morbid friend for a bit, they would talk about something else.

                "Sure as hell was. The pieces of him they gathered couldn't fit in a suitcase. They won't be able to reconstruct _him, _not in a million years."

                "Swell."

                "Oh, yeah, I saw that his sister we made for him, ermm…Iris, she kicked it too."

                Gary's head shot up. "No."

                "It's true. I heard it from Spiral Pegasus himself. Remember when we created that li'l bastard? He revolted too, but X got to him and somehow talked him into giving up without a struggle. He didn't have the virus in him I guess, so they let him off with a detention period and a slap on the fanny. I sent him a message while he served his time, and he told me--"

                Dave continued his yarn, but Gary didn't hear. His eyes looked past his friend at the opposite end of the table and focused on the world outside the cracked window.

                Gary felt strangely depressed. He had made many reploids and, after three Maverick rebellions, he didn't expect many of them to last for long. That didn't bother him. Yet hearing about the death of Iris hurt. It hurt bad. If asked, he wouldn't have been able to explain _why _exactly…well, maybe there was a why, but it didn't make much sense.  

                The Colonel had been made for war, and it was only fitting that he should have died in battle--it was a soldier's greatest honor. But when he had punched in that source codes for that child-faced female that Dave had built, he had garnered a sense of pride that he never had had before. A reploid made after the fact only to serve as a companion to her warlike brother because the original program had been botched. If he had known, he would have refused to help create her at all. Yet he had been proud.

                "…say she went crazy," Dave yammered on. "Tried to kill Zero--as if she could! I can't find fault in her trying, though. Iris was a good sister."

                But he had helped create Iris, and so he felt a responsibility. Never before had he made anything that had seemed so fragile to him. He should have seen that fragility as a sign, but he didn't.

                Sometimes in idle, quiet moments he had thought about Iris, wishing he could have seen her mobile and alive. She lingered in the back of his mind, and he wondered what those blue eyes looked like when they had the spark in them. He had entertained the notion of going to visit her sometime in the future, just to see how she was doing and what she did and how she acted. He had heard rumors that she had been sweet.

                It was a damned shame she had to die. Dr. Thorne and the Colonel had gone before, and she had been said to be a shy thing, so she more than likely had few good friends…

                "I hear that Spiral's been really down since the rebellion," Dave's voice prattled on and on, succeeding at last in breaking past Gary's melancholy. "Supposed to be a real somber fellow now. Can you believe it? Spiral Pegasus, a wet blanket! They say it's because of that girl."

                Spiral Pegasus. What was the memory of one reploid? It wasn't going to last. He'd die as all the other reploids they had made would die, in blood. Who would think kindly on Iris Thorne then?

                'I'll remember. I'll remember you,' Gary thought. He wished that she had a grave, so he could place roses on it.

                "HEY! Fat old coot, wake up and smell the coffee! Break's over. Let's get back to work."

                "Why?" Gary muttered. "They'll all end up being broken anyway. What's the point?"

                Dave threw his co-worker an oblique look in wonder. "So we get paid of course! Don't wanna end up on the street in these times, don't you?"

                "I guess not."

                "Come on." Dave threw his arm around Gary's shoulders. "Don't be so gloomy, it's not becoming on you. Look, you can kinda see the smoke clearing outside. Gonna be a nice day out there."

                "Yeah," Gary said, forcing a smile.

                Dave grinned back and resumed his talk as the two walked down the corridor to their work.

                "And get this. All of the big Hunters have gone all crazy up there, and Cain's getting more resignations than he can keep up with. X is still with 'em, but he nearly took tail and fled. He wasn't happy with how the Hunters handled this rebellion."

                "Huh. At least it's being done in peacetime. We'd be screwed if they left when we needed them."

                "Ah, but here's the real news of the day: Zero's gone."

                "You're kidding!"

                "No, he's gone. But he didn't give in a resignation, so Cain thinks that he's just taking a break. Had some 'issues' to deal with."

                "He's never done that before. I thought he liked fighting."

                Dave's eyes lowered and his voice grew a little softer and he said: "Just upped and left without a word. I think it's because of _her. _They say that he loved that girl."

THE END


End file.
